Sleeping Beauty
by tiltingaxis
Summary: "In the moments where he knows this isn't a nightmare, that this is all too terribly real, in those moments, all he wants to do is to go back to sleep." Grief comes in many stages. Future AU
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So the initial plan was to re-publish Love Letters first, but a surprising amount of readers have been asking for this story. I say surprising because I honestly did not expect the overwhelming response this particular story has received. I just want to thank those who have read it, and those who will finish it too, because even though it's finally starting to hit me how hard of a read this story is, this is probably my best work as a whole and I'm kind of shamelessly proud of it LOL. *****End of narcissistic ramble. **

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><p>She's late.<p>

Almost an hour late, to be exact. He stares restlessly at the clock above the door of their bedroom. They both have late nights these days. She has her rehearsals and he has his overtime. He needs it if he wants that promotion to push through. And he needs that promotion to push through. Especially now.

She told him she was going to be late tonight. She told him not to wait up. But still, he worries. He wonders why she refused to just let him wait for her at the theatre. He would feel so much better if he could just walk her home because it's dangerous, isn't it, for a young woman to walk home alone at midnight? The long needle of the clock seem to move at lightning speed and it's already ten minutes past twelve. Where the hell is she?

He wouldn't be this bad about this if she would just answer her damn phone. He's been calling and calling for the past hour and she's not picking up. Finn has half a mind to just walk out on to the streets and call her name. Maybe the rehearsal is running late. Rachel has a tendency to get carried away when it comes to this. It's her big break, she tells him. This is the role that's going to make her. So it would be typical of her to stay back late and forget to tell him. Right? Not this late though.

Where the hell is she?

xxx

He falls asleep with the phone clutched tightly in his fist.

xxx

It's two a.m. and the call that comes through pierces his gentle breathing and jolts him back to life.

"Rachel?" he asks immediately when he picks up, not bothering to even check the caller i.d.. "Where the hell are you?"

"Mr Finn Hudson?" He frowns and looks blearily at the clock. 2.03. Where the hell is she? And who the hell is this?

"Yes?"

"I'm calling from the hospital. Are you acquainted with Rachel Berry?"

xxx

Stab wounds, the nurse says. Stab wounds. Critical condition. Trauma unit. Oh God. _OhGodOhGodOhGod_.

xxx

He stares at his phone in a daze and notices five missed calls from Rachel.

12.15.

12.20.

12.35.

1240.

1.15.

He missed her by five minutes. He fucking fell asleep and missed her by five fucking minutes.

He shoots up off their bed and shrugs on his coat. He leaves the house in his pajamas.

xxx

Twenty minutes later, he's at the hospital. He's out of breath because he ran the whole way and people are looking at him like he's crazy. He can't really blame them. If he was sitting quietly on those plastic chairs and some weird guy started yelling his head off about his wife, he'd be freaked too.

Xxx

He's holding on to her purse. The man who found her handed it over. Finn would've thanked him, but all he could see is that small red stain at the edge and _OhGodthat'sRachel'sblood_. He drops onto the hard plastic seat, purse in hand, and the man leaves without a word.

Xxx

This isn't supposed to happen. He's not supposed to be here. He should be at home. _They _should be at home, in bed. Asleep. Making love. Doing nothing. Whatever. This isn't what's supposed to happen.

He tries hard to remember the last time he saw her. He can't. He can't remember what happened this morning. He can't remember what he said to her, can't remember what she said to him. His mind draws a total blank. Did he tell he loves her? Did she tell him she loves him? Did they kiss? Did they fight? He can't remember.

A hand grips his shoulder and he jumps. He hears voices. He looks up. A nurse is looking at him, alarmed.

"Sir," she says. At least he thinks that's what she's saying. He can't hear her. There's a ringing in his ear and it's loud and it echoes around his mind and all he can see is Rachel.

Rachel smiling.

Rachel crying.

Rachel sleeping.

Rachel, on the ground, in a puddle of her own blood.

_OhGodOhGodOhGod_.

He feels the woman's hand making soothing circles against his back. But it doesn't work. He can't be soothed.

Xxx

It's four in the morning. It's been two hours. It's been a hundred years, taken away from his life. He grips her purse tighter. He grips it tight enough that he can feel his fingernails dig into his palm through the fabric.

Xxx

He remembers two days ago. He remembers the feel of her body as she leaned against him on the couch, the way she cried at the end Love Story, just like the last ten times they watched it together. He remembers laughing at the way she wipes her eyes just like a little child and the way she looks up at him, eyes rimmed red, her expression certain. He remembers her leaning forward, remembers the feel of her breath mingling with his.

"Let's do it." He remembers that.

"What?" he had whispered, one hand finding its way to rest on her waist.

"Let's get married," she had said.

"We are getting married."

"I don't want to wait another five months. Let's just do it. Let's do it now. Tomorrow morning."

"Are you asking me to elope with you?" he had asked, his voice slightly amused. He remembers her not cracking a smile, remembers the way she kissed him, deep and tender.

"Yes." He remembers not sleeping, staying up all night, asking her time and again if she really wanted to, if she was absolutely sure. He remembers the way she smiled every single time, the way she pulled his body against her own to shut him up.

They were married by ten the next morning, the first couple to arrive, having waited in front of the building an hour before any living soul appeared.

Xxx

He has a bad feeling. Why is he having a bad feeling? He feels his heart constricting and he feels the burn that has been simmering in his retinas finally spill over like hot lava down his cheeks. He thinks he could possibly go insane at any second and suddenly he sees those double doors open and he sees a man come out.

He shoots out of his seat.

From the corner of his eyes he sees the rest of the people in the waiting area sitting up, alert. He knows he's the last person to arrive, that everybody else has been here possibly hours before him. But he doesn't care. He doesn't give a fuck about them and whoever they are waiting for because Rachel's in there, his _wife's _in there and this is _killing_ him. He sees the man stop at the nurse, sees them whispering before their eyes swivel towards him. Immediately, he walks in large strides and walks over to them.

"What happened?" he demands in a voice that's shriller than he's used to hearing come out of him.

"Mr Hudson?"

"What happened? Is she okay? Is Rachel okay?" His voice trembles and he realizes that it's his whole body that's shaking profusely, refusing to stand still. The doctor lays a hand on his shoulder and he fights the urge to shrug it off.

"She's stable," the man in the blue scrubs says and he sags against the nurse's station in relief. "The surgery was successful. She needed a lot of blood and we had some complications with the transfusion but she's fine now."

He grips the hand on his shoulder in gratitude as he tries to even out his erratic breathing. Finn looks up and the doctor's face is blurry through the tears that are pooling in his eyes but he tries his best to make sure that the man could see.

"Thank you," he says, his voice hoarse and broken and he makes out a smile on the face before him.

_Thank you._

Xxx

She's not awake. But that's okay. That's fine. Because she's _alive_. His stomach clenches at the first sight of her because she's so _tiny_ and she's so _fragile_ and there are wires _everywhere_ and there's a stitch somewhere underneath that gown to sew up a wound that will haunt him for the rest of his fucking life. The nurse had handed him everything she had on in a clear, sealed plastic.

Everything is here.

The necklace her parents had bought for her at fourteen, a simple gold chain that she still wears with that tiny gold star that always rests just in between her collarbone. There's the watch she had bought on a whim from that street vendor he hated because Art-Major-from-NYU with the pseudo-intellectual babble had shamelessly tried to hit on her. He sees her engagement ring, the most expensive ring he could afford at the time, at the bottom, the miniscule trail of stones glinting against the light as he holds the clear plastic up.

Everything is here. Except her clothes. They didn't give him her clothes.

He sits carefully on the chair on the right side of her bed and takes her hand. He fumbles with the ziplock, and takes out the ring, because that finger looks so barren, so _empty_ without it. Gently, he slips it back on, because she's going to freak out when she wakes up, if that ring isn't on her finger.

He holds on to her hand like a lifeline, forcing his fingers through hers, finding comfort in the way her ring nudges so familiarly into his skin. He leans forwards, drops his head on the bed, and the steady beeping of the machine, the sound that signifies her heart, lulls him into a restless sleep.

Xxx

He calls the office two hours after he was supposed to and tells them he's not coming in. He won't be coming in for days, weeks, _months_. However long it takes to get her back on her feet once she wakes up.

She's still unconscious. He pretends she's just asleep and it works.

Sometimes.

Xxx

Her parents arrive in the evening and he could barely look them in the eye because he failed. He was supposed to protect her, supposed to make sure that she's safe. And he failed. Her daddy grabs him into a hug and sobs into his shirt and everything becomes blurry again as that perpetual burn behind his eyes intensified.

Nurse Avery comes in an hour later and Finn's standing by the door, watching as the two men hold on to their daughter's hand. The hospital needs to clarify her details, she says. He nods tiredly and she looks down at the chart she's holding.

"Full name, Rachel Barbra Berry?" _Hudson_, he almost says. Rachel Barbra Hudson. But he looks up and her parents are already nodding their heads and he says nothing. He can't tell them they're married and that she's taking his name. Not right now. So he shuts up.

"Relationship?" nurse Avery asks, looking at him.

"Fiance."

Xxx

Four days.

It's been four days and she's still lying there, eyes closed, the constant beeping of the monitor the only sign of life. He's left the hospital once to grab his clothes. He grabbed hers too, a few of her favourite movies and the soundtrack to Evita for good measure. He's camped out on the cot next to her bed and her fathers come early in the morning and leave late at night.

He plays her music on her IPod and slips the headphones carefully over her ears.

He says good morning when he wakes up and kisses her cheeks and tells her I love you.

He says good night and kisses her cheek and tells her I love you before he goes to sleep.

He doesn't sleep though. Not really. He stares at the monitor mostly, his eyes tracing the lines of her heartbeat unblinkingly, his own heart moving in time with the beep.

Xxx

It's day seven and he's nearing the end of his rope.

She's still sleeping.

Xxx

He sees the doctor again. He was called in specifically. Finn enters the office with trepidation. He stares at the name plate. Dr. Cameron Jackson. He feels the ringing in his head go crazy.

"Finn," Dr. Jackson begins.

Xxx

They don't know what's wrong. The surgery went fine. There had been no complications. She just won't wake up. It's been seven days, Dr Jackson continues. He sees no brain activity. Her organs are failing.

_What's your decision Finn?_

Xxx

He runs toward her room, practically barrelling anything and anyone in his way. He stops at the door, leaning forwards on his knee to take a deep breath. He enters. They're alone. Just the two of them. Just him and Sleeping Beauty. Because she's the princess and he's supposed to be her prince.

"Wake up," he tells her, gripping each side of her small shoulders with his large hands.

"Wake up." He shakes her a little. Then a little harder.

"Rachel, wake up. _Wake up_." He takes a deep breath, leans forwards and presses his lips against hers urgently.

"Don't do this to me," he whispers, his breath quick and hard against her skin. He wonders if she can feel it.

_Brain dead._

"Baby," he says again, pushing the doctor's words out of his head. "Baby please. Just wake up, alright? Just come back_. Please_." He feels the hysteria bubbling in the pit of his stomach and he knows he's shaking her harder every second. He shuts his eyes as a shuddering sob rips out of his body and he wonders vaguely how he's still standing.

_Don't leave me. _

_Don't leave me. _

_Please._

"Finn." His eyes shoot open and he looks down with all the hope that's keeping him together. He feels a hand on his arm and turns. Nurse Avery. It's just nurse Avery. She's looking at him and the heartbreak that's etched over her features makes him feel like throwing up.

Xxx

_What's your decision Finn?_

Xxx

It's day nine.

"I hate you," he whispers venomously against her ear. How could she do this to him?

How _could _she?

He's angry. So fucking _angry _and he hates her so_ much _because she won't wake up. She's being stubborn, just like always.

He hates her.

Xxx

"I'm sorry," he whispers against her ear, his fingers grazing the side of her neck. His body is taut and frozen over hers. One inch either way and he's going to break.

"I'm sorry."

Xxx

In the end her daddy makes the choice for him.

Xxx

It's two days later and anybody who can comes to say goodbye. He watches as Kurt kisses her forehead and turns away. When her parents come in, he leaves the room.

Xxx

It's quiet. So fucking _quiet_. The beeps are gone.

Gently, he manoeuvres his body on to the bed, bending his long legs to fit the length. He slips one arm under her head and cradles it close to his chest, his other hand splayed over her heart, trying to find the steady rhythm he's memorized all these years.

It's like she's just sleeping.

The wall of hope he builds around his heart cracks.

"I love you," he says, his voice loud and strong. "You know that. I love you. So fucking much that it _kills_ me. This is going to kill me Rach."

She says nothing, and by now he knows she'll never say anything.

"This isn't what's supposed to happen. You're supposed to get your big break. I'm supposed to get that promotion. We're supposed to move out of that shithole we're living in, remember? We're supposed to let our families think that we're getting married in five months. We're supposed to get our marriage license. We're supposed to wait a few years and then and we're supposed to have a family, have babies. Remember? This isn't supposed to happen this way. You're supposed to be old. _We're_ supposed to be old. This was all your plan, so why are you ditching out on me Rach?"

He knows the tears can't stop, knows that it won't stop. Not for hours.

"I love you," he says again, hoarsely. He leans his forehead against hers and closes his eyes.

He waits.

Xxx

He reaches their (his) apartment and walks dumbly through everything until he reaches their (his) room. Finn heads to the closet and as he opens them, is hit with the smell of Rachel Berry, of his wife.

They were supposed to register for their marriage license six days ago. Now he guesses that point is moot.

He grabs every article of clothing she owns and throws it on the bed. He slips his hand into the pocket of his jeans and curls his fingers around the cool metal. He makes a space in the middle of the bed, and lies down in a foetal position, the ring he had bought for her clenched tightly in his fist.

He allows himself to fall apart.


	2. Pain

He wakes up after forty eight hours. Forty eight hours of blissful sleep, of nothing but vague dreams and memories and Rachel. He opens his eyes and the light from his window blinds him and it takes him almost a minute to find his bearings. The clock on the wall says that it's 12:03, and he wonders why Rachel was letting him sleep in when she's always annoying him in the morning with her chirpy wake up calls and peppy optimism. His hand brushes against the woolly fabric of one of her cardigans and he looks around in confusion at all the clothes strewn on the bed. He looks up to see the open wardrobe, and it hits him.

She's gone.

The sorrow that had been held off in his sleep slams into him like an avalanche, and he's being run over by it, becoming a part of this snowball of misery that's hurtling towards nowhere at full speed.

The lamp on his bedside table crashes against the wall and he doesn't even remember ever holding it in the first place.

It's the real world. And he wants nothing more than to go back to blissful sleep.

Xxx

He cuts his finger on a splinter of the ceramic and he barely feels the pain. He stares stupidly at the blood running down his palm, wondering why it doesn't hurt as bad as it looks, why it barely registers against the gaping wound in his chest.

Xxx

There are almost a hundred missed calls on his cell phone, sixty three messages, forty four pieces of paper in different sizes on the floor of their (his) apartment, near the door.

He takes out the battery of his phone, throws it against the wall and shoves those papers into the trashcan.

He goes back to sleep.

Xxx

The burst of cold water against his face jolts him awake. He's drenched from the waist up and he sees his brother in front of him, face livid.

It takes him a minute to remember again.

"Get up," Kurt orders, hands on his hips.

"How did you get in here?" he asks, his voice still hoarse from, how long has it been? Four days of sleep. Ninety-six hours.

"There is a very nice, very built man in the living room whose body just rammed through your door. I'll pay for your broken lock. Now get the hell up."

He stares up at the man standing in front of him, looking down at him expectantly, like he's just going to magically move his body and get up. Who the fuck does he think he is?

"Go away Kurt," he mumbles, holding back the sudden blinding rage that fills his body.

"I'm not going anywhere. Do you have any idea how worried I was? How worried we all were? We couldn't get a hold of you for days Finn_. Days_. Nobody knew where the hell you were. Carole's been crying non-stop for four straight days. Rachel's fathers-"

"Go away Kurt," he repeats, gritting his teeth in an effort to just- to just, _not_.

"Detective McGill wants to talk to you," Kurt continues, picking up her clothes, folding them neatly. What the hell is he doing? "He wants to know when you-"

"Get out Kurt!" he finally yells, sitting up and snatching her little red coat away from Kurt's hands, balling the outfit in his fist.

"Finn Hudson! You listen-"

"Get the_ fuck_ out of our-" He stops, his whole body trembling as he tries to retrace his steps. "Get the fuck out of my house! Get out! Get out!" He's standing by now, his voice rolling around the both of them like thunder as he grabs his step-brother by the shoulder and drags him out of the bedroom. Kurt's staring up at him and for the first time in his life, he thinks he sees fear in those eyes, and he doesn't care.

"Is there a problem here?" He turns to see the very nice, very built man Kurt was talking about looking at him almost menacingly. He's overcome by a desire to laugh hysterically at this, at the man who just broke their (his) front door, looking at him like he's the criminal.

"Yes," he says instead. "You just broke my door. Now get the hell out," he says, shoving Kurt roughly through the doorway and glaring viciously at the man next to him. He's about to slam the door in their faces when Kurt speaks again.

"Talk to your mom, Finn," he says softly. "She doesn't deserve this."

He closes the door and pushes the heaviest furniture they (he) have, the couch she had been hell-bent on getting, against it.

He goes back to bed.

Xxx

He calls his mom two days later. He can't remember much, but she was crying and he was crying and it was all just a fucking mess.

Everything is just a fucking mess.

Xxx

She's in his dreams. She's alive in them, laughing at him, as he tries again and again to catch up with her.

"_Come find me_," she whispers in his ear and he's_ trying_ to.

Oh God, he's trying to.

Xxx

_Rachel, _he thinks._ RachelRachelRacheRachel._

_Where are you, baby?_

Xxx

His mom comes the next morning. At the feel of a warm touch against his jaw, his eyes fly open.

"Rachel," he breathes. This time, the broken look that crosses over his mom's face is an instant reminder.

"How'd you get in here?" he asks, remembering her (his) couch pushed against the door.

"Burt's got some strength left in that old body of his."

"Oh."

"Look at you," she says in dismay, tears pooling in her eyes. "You look horrible. Have you eaten anything?"

"Yes," he answers quietly. Rachel had insisted on buying her organic-only cereal on their way home from their wedding (Could it be called a wedding? Or was it just marriage?). It was the only edible thing left in the house. Three times in almost seven days, he poured some into a bowl, just like she told him to, and ate. And three times, in almost seven days, he threw up immediately. Mostly he drinks a lot of water. And just enough aspirin to knock him out cold for a few hours because that's the strongest thing they (he) have lying around the house.

"I brought you some chicken soup. Get up sweetie," she says, her voice gentle and soothing, as she gently grips his wrists and pulls him up. He wishes he is young again. He wishes he is seven, when all he needs is his mom's voice and her chicken soup and her soft mom hands to make everything better.

He's not.

"Okay."

She pushes him gently into the bathroom, turns on the shower and helps him take off his clothes. He freezes when her hands pull up the white dress shirt he's wearing. He's been living in those clothes for days. It's what he wore when she was still in his arms. It's what he wore to the funeral. The spot on his shoulder where her head had laid still smells like her. His mom smiles at him encouragingly. He allows her to take it off.

He holds the shirt in his hands once she leaves, staring blankly at the fogged up glass of their (his) shower as the water beats angrily on his head. Slowly, he brings it up to his nose and sniffs. It doesn't smell like her anymore, he realizes. It just smells like sweat.

He can't tell if the hot, burning water rolling down his jaw is from the shower or from his tears.

Xxx

Burt stands up awkwardly from the chair he was sitting on, and he almost bolts back into the safe haven of their (his) room.

His mom takes his hand, and forces him to swallow down the soup she heated. He forces the fluids down his throat, forces the bile back down.

"Hiram and Leroy are worried about you," she tells him carefully as she places a glass of water in front of him. He nods his head and drinks up.

xxx

He can't sleep anymore. He just closes his eyes and pretends.

"_Come find me."_

But he can't. He can't find her anywhere.

Xxx

"You can't just stay holed up in your apartment Finn," Kurt rants through his newly fixed door, complete with an extra set of locks. "I know you're heartbroken and I know this is hard, but she wouldn't want you to be like this!"

_That's bullshit_, he thinks. Nobody know- knew. Knew. Nobody knew Rachel like he did. _Nobody_. And he doesn't know what she wants now. He doesn't know what she wants him to do now that she's gone, because the hey-baby-just-in-case-I-die conversation never happened between them. Maybe it should have.

But it hadn't and he doesn't know.

So what the fuck would anyone else know about it?

xxx

Her ring has a secure hold around his left pinkie finger. It looks odd, out of place, like it's not supposed to be there. Because it isn't. It's supposed to be around her finger, supposed to be on her.

He looks at it first thing when he wakes up. It makes things less confusing. It makes it easier for him to remember.

Xxx

It takes him two weeks to finally remember that everything is his, to turn ours into mine, theirs into his. It's _his_ apartment. _His_ room._ His _couch (not hers). Everything is his, everything is singular. He can't remember anything being only his since he was sixteen years old.

The loneliness crawls up his back and presses down onto his shoulders like a crushing boulder.

It suffocates.


	3. Guilt

His first day back at work is filled with awkward silences and unwelcomed condolences. He could feel their sympathetic gazes making holes at the back of his body, hear the silent whispers around him with words like _stabbed, coma, murder. Heartbreak. _

_Rachel._

He spends half his time in the bathroom, sitting in the third cubicle from the end, his head in his hands.

He tries his best to breathe. He tries his best to inhale a lungful of oxygen, to get his blood flowing. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

It'll get better. It will.

It can't get any worse.

Xxx

He doesn't get that promotion.

Bobby does. Bobby Manson, his former desk buddy. His friend. Bobby has a wife. He has a kid too. He deserves the promotion.

Bobby looks at him guiltily as he packs his stuff in a box to move to the old, brand new office they had both been vying for before. If he had enough emotion in him, he would have given the man an encouraging smile, because it's alright. He doesn't need that promotion. Not anymore.

He doesn't get a raise and a wife and a child to go home to. He gets whispers behind his back and soft, quiet voices saying "sorry" and "we're here for you" and "take your time, Finn".

He is. He is taking his time.

He doesn't need that promotion.

He lost his wife. So he's not getting the child. He's not getting the nice car, or the simple house with a stoop that she wanted or even that white wedding they're supposed to be having back home in four months.

So no, he doesn't need that promotion.

Xxx

"We see these kinds of cases a lot," Detective McGill says. "The streets here aren't the safest."

He wonders what she would say if she knew. Apparently, she's just another statistic.

"We'll try our best to find who did this, Mr Hudson," the man tells him, in a way that he guesses is supposed to be reassuring.

He wonders if it's worth it. He wonders if it's what she would have wanted. Mostly, he wonders why the thought of knowing terrifies him.

Xxx

Her fathers are on a mission. They're dead set on knowing exactly who did it, when it was done, how it was done. They want to know everything. Every single, miniscule detail.

"We want justice," Hiram says, his voice filled with a steely determination Finn's never known he has. "For her, for you. For us."

Leroy says nothing, ever the quiet one. But the way his fingers clamp so tightly around the glass of water in his hand says enough.

Xxx

All he wants is to just wake up.

Because sometimes, he thinks this is all just a nightmare, and she's still waiting for him on the other side, mumbling angrily to herself about his insufferable sleeping habits as she waits for him to wake up.

And in the moments where he knows this isn't a nightmare, that this is all too terribly real, in those moments, all he wants to do is to go back to sleep.

Xxx

_He's running after her._

_Running, running._

_She turns her head and smiles at him, her laughter like an addiction he can't get enough of._

"_Come find me," she whispers once he's close enough to reach out and touch her. She disappears just as his fingertips make contact with her hair._

"_Rachel?" he calls, confused. The world around him is dark, pitch black, and his heart is beating loud enough to echo in his brain. "Where are you baby?"_

_He walks blindly in the dark, stumbles upon something and falls. __**Finn**__, he hears her call. __**Finn.**_

"_Come find me."_

Xxx

He wakes up shivering, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his back, his pillow damp with perspiration.

He didn't find her.

He never does.

Xxx

His grocery list ranges from microwave dinners to hard liquor.

He knows he's disappointing her. He_ knows_.

But hey, chalk that up to another thing in his life where he fails her.

Xxx

He lives.

He goes through the motions.

Wake up. Go to work. Come back. Call mom. Go to sleep.

He starts with the first bottle every Friday after dinner.

He doesn't stop until Sunday rolls around and he needs to be sober enough for work the next day.

He lives.

Xxx

Hiram and Leroy are practically permanent residents in the hotel they're staying in.

He sees them whenever detective McGill calls him in. He sees the fire in their eyes, the persistence to find who did this to her.

Justice, they keep telling him. They'll find justice.

He nods his head, stays quiet.

Xxx

_Her laughter rings in his ears, lifts his spirits and makes him smile._

"_Where are you?" he calls out._

"_Come find me," she answers, her tone flirtatious. He grins and walks, listening to her breathless giggles, using them as his compass._

"_Baby, where are you?"_

"_Here," she says. He freezes, and turns around. "I'm right here," she says again, barely two feet away, beaming up at him, bright as the sun. _

_She's in his arms in less than a second, crushed to his chest as he buries his head in the crook of her neck._

"_Rachel," he breathes against her skin. "Rachel."_

_She's laughing softly, one of her palms pressed hard into his chest, over where his heart lay beating furiously. He buries his nose deeper into her warm skin, and breathes in. He wants to stay here, like this, forever. He wants to melt into her skin, wants her to melt into his, to be forever submerged with one another._

"_Finn," she calls softly. "Finn."_

_The warmth disappears. _

_Now she's cold in his arms, now she's freezing. He pulls back in confusion and sees her staring up at him, eyes wide and terrified._

"_Why?" she whispers, and his grip on her tightens._

"_Are you okay?" he asks urgently. "What's wrong?"_

"_Why?" she repeats and he looks down and __**oh God**__ there's blood. There's red, everywhere. On her shirt, on his._

_Blood, blood, blood._

_Her blood._

"_Rachel," he says again, voice strangled, filled with panic. He looks down, sees the knife in his hands, sees the long, ugly wound carved on her side. __**No.**_

"_Why?"_

_**No. Nononono.**_

"_I'm sorry," he pleads, throwing the weapon down to the floor. "I'm sorry! Oh God I'm so sorry!"_

_She's crying. She's dissappearing. Oh __**God**__, she's leaving._

"_Don't! Please don't!" _

_She's gone._

Xxx

His eyes fly open and he sits up in panic, his heart racing, beating angrily against his chest.

Oh God. _OhGodOhGodOhGod._

He stumbles blindly into the kitchen, trips on the kitchen chair and falls on his ass.

Oh God. He can't breathe. _Can'tbreathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathe. _He's gasping, trying to fill his lungs with air, trying to _fucking breathe damnit_! He balls his hands in fists, and thumps his right hand frantically against his chest.

One long, shuddering breath.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

His chest clears. He leans back against the fridge.

"_Justice,"_ he remembers Hiram saying, firm and certain. _"We want justice."_

_This is justice_, he thinks. Living with the truth. Living with his guilt.

This is justice.

Xxx

He starts his weekend too early and misses two days of work. Bobby comes by, calls him twenty times, knocks worriedly on his door.

But he's passed out on the floor of the kitchen and he hears nothing.

Xxx

He wakes up and finds himself in bed, his head pulsing with pain, like someone just took a fire extinguisher to his head. He sits up with a groan, because the pain gets even worse when he so much as moves. Looking around, he frowns. Everything seems oddly in place. He could have sworn he left his clothes lying on the floor the night before. He hears a sound, and now he's alert. Slowly, he climbs out of bed and creeps out into the living room. No one's around.

"Good morning." He jumps and turns to find his brother leaning against the refrigerator, a bored look plastered on his face.

"What the hell Kurt," he mumbles, annoyed.

"Before you start thinking that I've broken in again, let me just say that Carole gave me the spare key before she left. In fact, I wouldn't even be here if she hadn't been so insistent for me to see if you're still alive. Which you are, barely."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asks quietly, glaring at the smaller man in front of him. Kurt looks at him and raises an eyebrow.

"It means that lying comatose on the floor of your kitchen does not exactly constitute as being alive. And from the looks of it, you'd been there for quite some time."

"Well I'm still breathing. So you can go and tell mom that I don't need a babysitter."

"You know," Kurt says nonchalantly, curving up one palm to inspect his fingernails. "This juvenile, preteen angst you've got going on gets old after a while."

"I'm sorry my juvenile, preteen angst doesn't seem entertaining enough for you," he answers testily, his head still pounding from the hangover. He groans as he staggers against the couch, gripping the head of it in an effort to stay upright.

"Here," his brother says, walking over to hand him a glass of water and a plate of toast.

"I'm not hungry," he mutters.

"Well you need to eat something before I give you these vitamins, or you're probably going to throw up, and that is not a sight I want to see."

"Fine." He staggers towards the couch and drops himself onto it. "Thank you," he says as an after-thought.

"You're welcome. Eat up."

Xxx

"You talk in your sleep."

"What?"

"You talk. In your sleep."

"What do I say?"

"..."

"Kurt?"

"Stupid things. Really, really stupid things."

Xxx

He gets the call at 2.30 on a Monday morning. It woke him up from another nightmare.

"We found him," Detective McGill says through the phone. There's a note of satisfaction in the policeman's voice, a note of relief.

He stares at the phone for maybe two minutes once he hung up. This situation is bizarre, he thinks.

He's about to meet her murderer, the one who took her away.

Xxx

He stares hard through the glass at the person, the _boy_, sitting quietly alone. His expression was one of disdain, but Finn thinks he sees the slight tremble of the boy's jaw. He can't possibly be more than fourteen. Inexplicably, he thinks of Puck. He thinks of high school and that incident with the ATM. He thinks of Puck in the Juvenile facility.

"_It's different there, man. Harsher. Colder_."

He's just a boy.

"He says it was an accident," detective McGill tells him. "Saw her walking alone and thought he had a shot, so he went for it. He didn't expect the struggle. Kid is new, you see, a novice. She screamed, he panicked, and they struggled."

_Oh God_. He turns away.

"Her parents," he chokes out. They would want to know these things. They would want every single detail. But not him. The images he's conjured up in his mind are too vivid. He doesn't need even more clarity.

"They've been informed. They're on their way."

He turns back to look at the boy, whose face seems to be crumbling even further by the second. He takes everything in, memorizes every feature, right down to the pool of water merged in his clear blue eyes. This picture is going to stay with him forever, this boy will stay with him forever.

The boy who ruined his life in a single careless act. The one whose life he ruined.

Xxx

He walks quickly towards the exit, eyes trained towards the double doors that will lead him out of here. He needs to get out of here. _Nownownow_. He pushes the door open and a rush of cold air hits his face. He makes it to the bottom step.

He throws up in the shrub to his left.

Xxx

"Get over yourself Finn. You're not that special. You're not responsible for everything that happens in this world."

"What are you talking about?"

"This is not your fault," Kurt says instead.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"She isn't your fault."

"Yes. Yes she is."

"How is it your fault?"

He grips the drink in his hand tighter. He doesn't know what possessed him to call Kurt in the first place. He just knows he doesn't want to be alone. Kurt's sitting primly on the couch, one leg over the other, staring at him intently. It's hard to find the words, hard to construct a sentence.

"Do you know how many time she called me that night?" he finally starts, staring at the way the drink swirls in the glass he's tilting. "Five times. 12.15. 12.20. 12.35. 12.40. 1.15. Do you know what I was doing?"

Kurt shakes his head, expression troubled. He snorts.

"Sleeping. The phone was in my hand. She called me five times. I didn't wake up. I wasn't supposed to be sleeping. I was supposed to be awake. I was supposed to wait for her. But I fucking fell asleep."

"Finn-"

"Do you know how ridiculous that is? That she was out there, scared and alone and _dying_, and I was _asleep_?"

"I don't-"

"She was alone, Kurt. She told me it was fine. She said it was just a fifteen minute walk. She was going to be fine. I had a bad feeling about it, you know? But I was too tired, working on overtime. So I ignored it. I said yeah, okay, even though I _knew_, I knew something bad was going to happen."

"You didn't _know_-"

"I did. But I ignored it, because I was tired, like that even mattered. And she was late that night, you know? She was supposed to be home at eleven. But it was midnight, and she still wasn't home. I mean, what the fuck was wrong with me man? Why the hell wasn't I out there looking for her?"

"Finn-"

"She was alone, Kurt. She died alone. And that's my fault."

Xxx

"You didn't kill her. You didn't grab a knife and stab her. That boy did."

"He's a kid."

"He's a functioning human being."

"He's a child."

xxx

"Okay fine. So you're responsible. You're the motherfucking jackass who left his fiancé to die."

He drains the last of his liquor and stares numbly at Kurt over the glass.

"But you know what? That makes her the dumb bitch who was stupid enough to walk home alone in the middle of the night-"

"Shut up."

"And that boy? Yeah he's the motherfucking murderer who thinks he'll get away with it just because he's a minor-"

"For God's sake Kurt, shut the fuck up!"

"So yay! You're all responsible for this. You're all to blame. Happy now?"

"Get the hell out of my house."

Xxx

The knock comes almost five hours later at one in the morning. He's still glued to that couch, head spinning from everything, from the liquor to_ that boy_ and from every word that fell out of Kurt's mouth.

"I'm sorry!" he hears, the yell muffled by the two-inch wood standing in between them. He continues staring at the bright yellow flower patterns littered all over his couch.

Ten minutes later, he gets up, and opens the door. He finds Kurt on the floor, leaning against the wall opposite his, legs splayed in resignation in front of him. His brother jumps up immediately.

"I'm sorry," Kurt says again, quietly this time. He takes in the dishevelled appearance, the bloodshot eyes and the tear tracks. He turns around and leaves the door open.

Xxx

"I miss her," Kurt tells him. "God I miss everything about her. Her anal tendencies, all that annoying optimism, her God awful clothes. You just- they're never something I thought I'd miss, you know? I never thought I'd live a day without her constant need to 'maintain the bonds of our relationship' by calling me every single day, even when she had nothing to say. I never thought she'd ever stop hounding me to my very last breath of patience, to come have dinner here every single weekend for the past four years, subjecting me to the horrible science experiments that were her cooking. I just- I miss her."

"I know."

Xxx

Her fathers leave for Lima three days later. He meets them at the airport because Kurt won't take no for an answer. He stands awkwardly next to his brother as Leroy and Hiram say their goodbyes. He thinks that they both look worse than they did since the last time he saw them. He guesses now that they found justice, the loss is even harder to bear.

"Don't be a stranger," Hiram says as he's pulled down for a hug. He looks up from where he's crushed against the old man, and Leroy nods and pats his shoulder.

"I won't."

He watches as they walk away, and he thinks that's the one promise he intends never to break.

Xxx

"Will you ever stop blaming yourself?"

"No."

"Why?"

"Because- because if I don't blame myself, than I'd have to accept that it was inevitable. I'd have to accept that there would have been nothing I can do, that it would have happened, no matter what. And I can't. I can't."

"Okay."

The rest of the drive back was filled with silence.

"I still think you're being stupid," Kurt says when the cab comes to a stop.


	4. In Limbo

He sees her pacing in front of his front door as he reaches the last step on his floor. He feels the wariness settling in and contemplates turning around to walk back down when she turns her head and spots him. She smiles.

"Finn," she calls, a little too loudly.

"Andrea," he acknowledges, giving her a nod as he continues his way to the apartment. He stops in front of her, slightly annoyed, because she's standing right in between him and the door.

"How are you?" she asks softly as she steps aside. He pushes his key into the lock and turns, pushing the door open. He looks up at her and forces a smile.

"I'm okay," he answers, civil. She nods her head.

"Good." They stand awkwardly at the doorway for a few seconds until she realizes that he's not about to invite her in.

"Look, Finn," she says finally. "We're having a get together down at the theatre this Sunday. It's- Well, it's a memorial, for Rachel. And we would really like it if you could come." He freezes, the forced smile getting harder to keep in place.

"We all miss her," she continues softly, her eyes suddenly glassy, and there's a voice in the back of his head that sounds eerily like his wife, telling him that he's acting like a douche. Andrea was her friend, a good friend.

"I-" He stops, not knowing what to say. Somehow, he doesn't think saying _I wish it was me instead_, or _she tells me it's my fault in my dreams_ would be the right things to say. "I miss her too."

"Finn," she says, grasping his arm. He forces himself not to flinch. "Please come."

"Okay."

Xxx

He's not going.

Xxx

It's Friday and he's home-free.

He woke up. He went to work. He came home. He called his mom. He lived.

He opens the cabinet next to the fridge, grabs the full bottle he bought the day before, ignoring the set of China she had specifically set aside for guests only (Kurt), collecting dust from the lack of use. He grabs the bottle opener, positions it professionally over the cap, and someone is knocking on his door.

His eyes swivel from the door to the bottle in his hand, contemplating whether to ignore whoever it is on the other side altogether, when Kurt's voice floats through.

"For the love of God, couldn't you at least let me in before you drink yourself to death?" He rolls his eyes and leaves the bottle to open the door.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt pushes past him, his slight figure slipping easily through the doorway.

"Dinner," his brother says simply, holding up the plastic bag in his hand. "It's Chinese."

"I'm not hungry."

"Well you never are these days," Kurt says as he makes his way to the kitchen. "But you still need to eat. Now come on, I got you the kung pao chicken. It's not cheap."

"I didn't ask you to," he mutters under his breath as he follows suit.

"You're welcome." He leans against the small counter top with a frown as Kurt places the food next to the stove.

"What are you doing?" he asks sharply as Kurt pulls open the door of the cabinet next to the fridge.

"Nice," Kurt says sarcastically instead, at the sight of the bottles and the China pushed to the back.

"Get away from there."

"What do you suppose we eat from Finn? The carton? We are not barbarians. We are civilized human beings."

"Don't- don't use those."

"We always use these."

"Kurt. They're-" _They're hers_, he wants to say. "I don't want to break them." Kurt stares at him for a while, his gaze penetrating, until it makes him uncomfortable and he looks away.

"Fine," his brother finally says, and moves towards the next cabinet, taking out the normal, everyday ceramic plates that he uses.

Xxx

"You don't have to check up on me, you know."

"It's just dinner Finn."

Xxx

"I thought it was just dinner."

"It's too late to go home now. The couch is just fine by me."

Xxx

He wakes up to a whirring noise and groans as he buries his head under the pillow. The noise gets even more grating and he gives up on going back to sleep.

"Smoothie?" Kurt offers as he steps blearily out of his room. Finn shakes his head, giving him a sour look.

"You really need to go grocery shopping Finn. There's nothing edible whatsoever in this house. I had to make a quick trip two blocks away for these," he says, gesturing towards the fruits and loaf of bread in front of him.

"Well, you're not supposed to be here in the first place," Finn answers testily as he pours himself a glass of water. He's getting antsy. This is not the weekend he had planned.

"Oh stop being so catty."

"Fuck off."

"Lovely."

Xxx

"What are you doing this weekend?"

"What do you think I'm doing?"

"A woman came by this morning. Andrea, she said her name was."

He says nothing, staring at the blank television screen.

"She said to tell you that the memorial starts at three tomorrow. She said she tried calling you, but you never picked up and she wanted to make sure you got the message."

Xxx

"You're skipping out on this thing, aren't you?"

"That's the plan."

"It's a shame."

"What?"

"A memorial for Rachel Berry? She would have loved it. All that attention especially for her? She lived for that kind of stuff. It's just a shame you won't be there, that's all. I mean, she would have wanted you to be."

Xxx

He lies back on his bed in the dark, staring at the pitch black of nothing before him.

Xxx

"_You're really gung ho about this Broadway thing aren't you?" he asks her, after she just spent fifteen minutes telling him about all the plays she's going to be in that'll make her famous." She turns to look at him as they walk together towards the school exit, her expression appalled._

"_Of course I am!" she exclaims, throwing her arms out. "Broadway is my true calling Finn. It's going to catapult me to my rightful place as a star. Everyone will know who I am because of my hard work and incomparable talent. That's why I have to do my best, so that once I get famous and everyone wants to be like me, I'll be able to set a good example as a proper role model for the younger generation."_

_He stares at her, slightly open mouthed. He's pretty sure he understood only half of what she's saying because she's talking so fast. A few weeks ago, he would have thought she was a snotty, arrogant brat. A few weeks ago, he __**did**__ think she was a snotty, arrogant brat. But the more he hangs out with her, well, he just can't help but __**believe **__what she's saying. She's so confident and talented and stuff, of course she's gonna be famous one day. She's kind of blushing and he guesses it's 'cause he's been staring at her for so long, so he just smiles at her and turns his head back to watch where he's going._

_Rachel Berry's kinda cool. In a weird, crazy, high-strung kind of way._

Xxx

"Kurt?"

"It's two in the morning Finn. Why on earth would you call someone at two in the morning?"

"Can you come with me?"

Xxx

The building is old and rusty, somewhat on the dilapidated side. He pushes through the metal door of the entrance, his brother walking slightly behind him. She loved this place, which was odd in a way, because she was Rachel Berry and she had her heart set on Broadway and this small theatre was about as far from Broadway as you could get.

"_I have to pay my dues Finn_," she used to tell him. "_The right role is just around the corner_."

Which corner, he'll now never know.

It really was the perfect place for her, surrounded by a bunch of theatre geeks, all trying to make it big. They are a small company, directed by a man called Marty Mathers, whose biggest claim to fame was being the understudy for Corny Collins in Hairspray, which was the closest thing to Broadway any of them ever got. She had real friends, people who finally understood her, something he knew she had been looking for all her life. He was glad for it, still glad for it.

He stands just outside of the auditorium apprehensively, the soundtrack to Evita emanating from the open door.

"Wow," Kurt mutters. "They really are her people."

"You mean your people?"

"Same difference. Are you going in, or are you just going to stand there for the next two hours?"

Xxx

Andrea smiles, beams really, when she sees him enter, and it reminds him of Rachel and her huge, unrestrained smiles and it overwhelms him for a second before he collects himself. She nudges Marty, who was standing to her left, and they both make their way towards him.

"We're so glad you could make it," Marty tells him, shaking his hand.

Xxx

"The first time I met Rachel, she told me I'd make for a great supporting actress." The room laughs as Mandy, tall, slender and blonde shakes her head and smiles. "Now, I came here to be a leading lady and here was this tiny girl telling me that she's willing to share her spotlight with me, because 'you're very talented, almost as talented as me'. It was my first day here, and I thought it was a prank. But then I found out, no. It was just Rachel."

"But in all honesty, she was the first person to come up to me and say hello. She gave me those sugar cookies of hers the next day and apologized for her rude behavior. It's odd how I can still remember what she told me. She said, 'I told my boyfriend about you last night, and he said I might have offended you with my statement. I hope you accept my infamous sugar cookies as a sincere apology'."

The room starts to laugh, and he vaguely remembers the conversation and the distressed look that passed over her face when he had tactfully told her so. She had spent the whole night painstakingly hovering over those cookies and slapping his hand away when he furtively reached out for one.

"_Here,"_ she had said as she handed him one that was slightly burnt and kissed his cheek. "_Now leave the rest alone. They're for Mandy_." He snaps out of his reverie when Kurt discreetly nudges his elbow.

"But that was Rachel," Mandy continues, her voice taking on a softer tone. "The Rachel I knew. She knew exactly what she wanted. It's like she had tunnel vision, you know? Once she set her mind to something, she went all out for it. And once you hear her sing, well you know immediately where all that confidence came from. And sometimes it overshadowed the best parts of Rachel, like her inability to ever hold a grudge or that sunny optimism she has that annoys you to no end, but that you're secretly grateful for. And she's honest. Painfully honest. She told me my rendition of Memories was subpar, but only, she said, because she knew that my talent far surpassed that performance."

"She had this quality about her, a certain kind of natural gracefulness that comes from being a true leading lady. And well, we miss you Rachel. And Broadway may not know it, but it lost a great star."

Xxx

He sits in his chair. Really, it's his chair. He's sat on it countless of times, been to countless shows and watched her as she shone brightly in front of him. It feels weird now, to be here, to still be in the same chair, when she's no longer in front of him, no longer sending him those secret looks that she used to when she performed, no longer sending him her kisses from the stage at the curtain call.

"She'll probably have a lot to say about this performance," Andrea begins, smiling down at the both of them. "No doubt a lot criticisms. Cut us some slack, okay Rachel?" she finishes as she looks up.

"Phantom of the Opera," Kurt informs quietly as the music starts and her friends lined the stage. He gives a slight nod and forces himself to stop squirming, to sit still. He remembers her first show, the way her face lit up at the boisterous applause of all fifty five audience members in attendance, half of them friends and family of the cast, and the way her eyes had roamed the crowd to settle on him, her lips mouthing a silent _I love you_.

"_They loved me Finn," she whispered giddily in the dark a few hours later as his hands gently travelled over her bare skin._

"_Of course they did," he whispered into her ear. "You're a star."_

Kurt nudges him again and he forces himself to listen.

_**Wishing you were**__**somehow here again **__**  
><strong>__**wishing you were somehow near **__**  
><strong>_

"_Do you think I'll make it?" she asked once hesitatingly after a show while they were walking home. He had stopped her there, in the middle of the street, and gently prodded her jaw up to face him._

"_Not only will you make it," he said confidently. "You'll kick all of their asses."__  
><em>

_**Wishing I could**__**hear your voice again .**__**  
><strong>__**knowing that I**__**never would**_

"_I have a feeling," she had whispered into his ear on their first night as a married couple. Married. They were married. There was a nice ring to that. They lay on the floor of their bedroom, photographs of their childhood scattered around them. He imagined a future where there'll be a little girl that looks just like the girl in the photo on his chest, her hair in pigtails and her front tooth missing. He had grinned as he rolled her underneath him, ignoring her protests that they were going to ruin the pictures._

"_What feeling?" he asked, glancing down at her suggestively as he allowed a little more of his weight to pin her down. She had rolled her eyes and slapped his arm playfully._

"_Something's coming Finn. I think this is it, I think this is the role. I think I'm going to Broadway," she said breathlessly as his lips skimmed pass the skin where her ear meets her neck._

"_Should we celebrate?" His lips brushed against her collarbone, his breath hot over her skin._

"_What do you have in mind?" she asked playfully, one hand slipping under his shirt , her fingernails softly grazing the skin underneath. His lips curved into a smile against hers._

"_What do you think?"_

_**Help me say**__**goodbye**_

_**Help me say goodbye**_

For the first time since that day, since he held her in his arms, waiting for her to stop breathing, he lets himself remember.

Xxx

He reaches out.

Xxx

He breathes with the sound of the ring. Once. Twice.

"Hello?"

"Mom?"

Xxx

He sends in his notice of unpaid leave the next day.

"Take your time Finn," Bobby says, pulling him for a hug.

"I will."

He goes home and packs his bag.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Lyrics to Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again taken from the soundtrack of Phantom of the Opera.**


	5. Healing process

He looks out the window of the plane as it's landing and somehow, the familiar patches of Lima Ohio, comforts him.

Welcome home, it says.

Xxx

He finds Burt sitting on a chair in the waiting area, his fingers toying with the cap in his hands. He stops for a while to stare at the old man with the distraught look on his face and worry lines on his forehead. Taking a deep breath, Finn walks toward his stepfather.

"Hey," he greets, stopping right in front of him. Burt looks up, slightly startled, before his face breaks into a smile.

Xxx

"How was your flight?"

"Okay."

"How's New York treating you?"

"New York's... different."

Silence ensues, but the both of them have never been known to be great conversationalists anyway, especially not with each other.

"Kurt told us about the memorial," Burt says suddenly, eyes on the road as he made a left turn into their street. "He said it was good."

"It was perfect."

Xxx

"We're home!" Burt calls out as they enter the front door and he hears the sound of clanging in the kitchen before he sees his mom come running into the room, her left cheek smeared with flour, as she folds him into her arms. He's 6`3, taller than most and so much taller than her, but for that moment in her arms he feels safe. He doesn't feel like he's twenty seven years old or like his life had fallen apart in his hands. For a moment he's Finn, and she's his mom, and she makes him feel safe. She pulls back and he sees the tears in her eyes.

"Are you hungry?" she asks, her voice trembling. He smiles and wipes away the flour on her cheek with his knuckles.

"Starving."

Xxx

He makes it to his room after she practically force fed him with her casserole and apple pie. She watched him like a hawk while he ate, and he had a feeling Kurt's been telling on him. The room smells musty and clean, and he thinks he smells the pine freshener she had sprayed before he arrived. It's weird to be here, where everything was just as he left it, like a snapshot from a memory of his life years ago. He drops his luggage at the foot of his bed as his gaze fall on to the frame on his bed side. He sits on the edge of the mattress and picks it up.

"Hi," he says to the beaming girl in the picture. "I've been an ass, haven't I?"

An almost smile graces his features at the memory of the photograph, of Rachel at seventeen, and her almost manic-like excitement at attempting karaoke for the first time in her life. She had hogged the microphone all night, to the point where Kurt had almost clubbed her over with his man-purse had Mercedes not held him back firmly. It had been a hilarious night that ended with Rachel talking his ear off and begging him to not go home just yet because her parents were out of town and she wanted pancakes and she didn't want to eat alone. They had fallen asleep together on the couch in front of her television and were woken up by her dad. He was almost grounded.

Mercedes had given him that picture of her, standing just outside the karaoke bar, excitement coloring her cheeks and lighting her eyes. She was seventeen, and she was alive and happy and perfect in his eyes. She would always be perfect. He stares at the way her eyes were twinkling, at the way her mouth was open in mid-giggle and the way her hair fell over her face and he wonders what this girl would think of him now.

"I'm working on it," he tells the picture quietly before he sets it down again.

Xxx

Lima is Lima is Lima.

It never changes, and he's glad, because something needs to be constant in his life, something needs to always stay the same.

Xxx

He sees her everywhere he goes. She's there in his room, her face shining happily as she tells him that she's found the perfect song for their last duet in New Directions. He sees her in his kitchen, clucking her tongue as his eighteen year old self pulled her back against him playfully, and she tells him to take a shower because he stinks from all that time in Burt's garage, but not before she turns to kiss him. He walks out the door and he sees her at the end of his driveway, waving enthusiastically at him, as she runs up to meet him after a whole semester of college spent apart.

He drives past their high school on his way to her house, and a whole montage of Rachel (happy, angry, sad, smiling, laughing, crying, kissing him, yelling angrily at him, walking away from him) assaults his mind and he has to pull over before he runs into a tree.

He pulls up in the Berry driveway and he sees her on the front steps, nineteen now, and her eyes bloodshot and tired from a fight that they've forgotten the reason to the moment they walked away. He sees him walking, _running,_ out of his mother's car fifteen minutes after he drove away and turned back around and he sees them meeting each other halfway, incoherent apologies leaving their lips as laughter filled with relief floated through the air, holding onto each other in the freezing snow like two idiots in love.

She's everywhere.

He takes a deep breath, and steps out of the car.

Xxx

"How are you doing?" Leroy asks him as he takes off his coat. That's what everybody's asking him these days. _How are you doing_? He always smiles, nods his head and says _fine_. It's different when her dad asks him, it's different when there's a perpetual look of sorrow that colors the man's gaze and a note of sincere wonder coloring his voice.

"I'm," he starts, unsure. He's never really asked himself that, never took the time to just stop and think, _how are you doing Finn_? But he needs an honest answer this time because_ fine_ just isn't going to cut it. "I'm trying," he finally says.

Leroy nods, and lets him through.

Xxx

"The chicken's good," he says awkwardly after the quiet dinner, looking for something to say. Hiram smiles at him.

"We know it's your favourite," he says. "How can we not, when she almost burned the house down, trying to make it for you?" he continues, almost rolling his eyes at the memory. He catches Finn's gaze and they both smile. Rachel, for all of her talent at baking, was a terrible cook.

"It wasn't her strongest suit," Finn admitted, chuckling, as he remembers every single one of her disastrous attempts.

"That's putting it mildly," Hiram answers wryly.

"The smoke detector went off once," he says suddenly, remembering an incident a year ago. "She was trying to make pot roast. From scratch. I think it was to celebrate my first bonus or something. I heard her scream, smelled something burning and then the smoke detector went off."

"Well, you should have seen her attempt at the veggie burgers. They tasted horrible. But she was so proud of herself, we didn't have the heart to tell her that there were some eggshell residue she forgot to take out."

"I know the veggie burgers," he answers knowingly, the smile on his face growing into a grin. The sound of a chair scrapping against the wooden floor stops him from elaborating. He turns to see Leroy, struggling hastily to stand up.

"Excuse me," her dad says and leaves the room. He turns to look back at the bones on his plate, ignoring the heartbreak etched on her daddy's face. Hiram clears his throat and Finn looks up. The older man smiles weakly at him.

"He just needs time."

Finn nods his head and looks back down, the awkward silence creeping back into the room.

Xxx

He leaves Hiram in the kitchen after the man had explicitly told him to leave the dishes be. He walks up the stairs, turns left once he reaches the top, and continues slowly until he reaches the last door. He turns the knob and pushes it open. It's dark and he can't see a thing and he's never remembered her room to be this dark ever, until he realizes that they've closed her curtains to keep the light out. He feels along the wall to his left to find the switch and turns it on.

The sight overwhelms him. Just like it was before when he was in his own room, it feels as if nothing has changed. Her walls are still yellow, still lined up with all those Broadway posters of shows she was determined she will be in one day. He stares at the pink and purple bedspread, its laced edges trailing down to her carpeted floor, and the pillows that lined up the headboard. There's Sandy, the little doll that never failed to creep him out, sitting primly next to the rest of her stuffed animals.

He takes another step forward and closes the door behind him. He doesn't know what to do with himself, so he sits on the edge of her bed.

"Hey Sandy," he says, picking up the old doll and he wonders if it's going to be a common occurrence for him, talking to inanimate objects. Maybe he's slowly going crazy. Great. He puts Sandy down and looks around, and there she is again.

He sees her standing in front of that full length mirror, a brush in hand, as she sings at the top of her lungs and winks at him through her reflection. He lies down on the bed, right next to Sandy and he sees her sitting on the edge of it, patiently gluing rhinestones on her new phone after her old one fell into a bowl of punch at a school dance, it was in the front pocket of his jacket that she was wearing, as she reached forward for a cup.

He looks toward the closed bathroom and he sees Rachel, almost seventeen and the most beautiful thing his seventeen year old self had ever seen, standing shyly in the new underwear she had just bought because that night was special, because he was special. Her hands are crossed almost hesitantly over her chest and just like he did ten years ago, he wonders again how it was possible for him to get to that moment, to be seventeen and in love and to know so surely that this girl was going to be the one for him for the rest of his life.

He had been one hell of a lucky bastard, until his luck ran out.

Xxx

He fell asleep.

He wakes up in the middle of the night and his shoes are on the floor and there's a blanket over him. The curtains are open again, and he stares quietly around the room through the light that emanated from the street lamp outside.

He sees her next to him, her eyes closed and her face peaceful as she sleeps on, her face turned towards him with both hands under her chin.

He reaches out a hand towards her without realizing it, and she's gone.

Xxx

The second time he wakes up, the glow of the streetlamp is gone and sunlight filters in from the window.

His chest feels tight and it's hard to breathe as he sits up and takes in his surroundings. He grabs Sandy by her shoulders and stares at the old doll, focusing on the washed out color of her dress as he tries to calm himself down.

"She's not coming back," he tells the doll in his hands. She stares back lifelessly.

Maybe coming here was a mistake.

Xxx

"I'm sorry for bothering you," he tells Leroy when he finds the man in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand.

"You weren't. You just fell asleep." They stare at each other wordlessly for a few moments, and he looks away.

"Tell Hiram thank you for me," he says as he puts on his coat and feels for his car keys.

"I will." Her dad follows him as he makes his way to the front door.

"I'm trying too," Leroy says quietly as he turns the knob. Finn turns to look at him._ I know_, he wants to say. _I understand_.

"I'll see you around."

Xxx

It's been a week.

He's taking his time.

Xxx

He's walking aimlessly in the grocery store. His mom had sent him here for something, he just can't remember what. He hears a familiar voice call his name. He turns around, and there's Mr Schue, one hand in the air and the other holding on to a little boy who's trying his best to reach for the box of Froot Loops.

Xxx

There's a red toy car running around the table as the five year old pushes it almost manically, narrowly avoiding the cup of coke and the Happy Meal box in its way.

"He's really grown," he remarks to his former teacher, indicating the oblivious boy in front of him who's making loud crashing noises as his red car finally falls from the table to the floor. Mr Schue smiles as he looks fondly at his son, the curly mop of hair on his head unmistakable.

"He's a handful, that's for sure, drives us up the wall most of the time."

"How's Miss Pills- I mean, how's your wife?"

"Emma's fine. She needed a break, so I'm taking this little tyke off her hands for a while."

"Oh."

Mr Schue's staring at him thoughtfully, and it's making him uncomfortable. More so than anyone else, his teacher has always felt like a father figure to him, and right now he feels like a son in trouble.

"How are you doing, Finn?"

"Fine."

He feels a slight tickle along his leg and looks down to find the red car making its way to his lap.

"Jamie," Mr Schue says warningly, as his son continues to make the treacherous journey through Finn's body.

"It's okay," he tells the teacher, ruffling the mop of curls in front of him as he grins.

"How long are you staying?" Mr Schue asks, as he straightens out his leg to give Jamie's car more room for speed.

"I don't know yet."

"Finn-" He hears the hesitance in his teacher's voice and inwardly braces himself. "When I heard the news-" Mr Schue stops, and he waits patiently for him to continue.

"I know," he says quietly when the older man doesn't. Jamie's red car goes up his arm and the boy's face turns towards him as he pushes it higher. He looks confused for a second as he stares up, before his face breaks into a big grin, his large brown eyes crinkling. Finn smiles back, heartened by the way the boy is looking at him so happily. He holds out his arm to give the car a new route, watching as excitement fills the boy's eyes. He chuckles.

"She was special," Mr Schue says quietly. "You're all special. I'm here if you need me."

He feels his throat close up and he needs to leave before it's too late.

"I have to go," he tells the teacher, his voice strangled. He smiles apologetically at the five year old as he gently takes the car away and puts it on the table. "I'm sorry. It was nice seeing you, but I have to- I have to do something for my mom."

He pushes the chair back and he's already halfway to the door when Mr Schue calls his name again. He closes his eyes and counts to ten and before he could turn, feels a tug on his pants. He looks down, and Jamie's holding the red car up to him.

"Here," the boy says shyly, persistently holding the toy up towards him. "I have more at home," he continues proudly. He looks towards Mr Schue in confusion and the teacher merely shrugs his shoulder.

"Thank you," he says softly as he takes it.

"Mommy says when a friend is sad, I should share my toys with him."

"Your mommy's very nice."

"Yeah," Jamie answers proudly, puffing his chest. Finn looks up at his father, and forces himself to smile.

"You have a great kid," he says, voice choked with emotion.

"You were the first one, you know?"

"What?"

"My first great kid."

Xxx

He leans back against the headboard, his hand absent-mindedly pushing the red toy car over his stomach. Forward, reverse. Forward, reverse.

Xxx

"_How many do you want?" she asks suddenly as she leans closer into him and twines their fingers together._

"_How many what?" he asks lazily, looking up at the leaked stain on his ceiling._

"_Children." He turns to look at her in surprise. Children?_

"_I'm sorry," she apologizes at the dumbstruck look on his face, a blush spreading across her features. "Did I just freak you out? Should I stop talking?" He smiles and turns his body to face her._

"_No. I mean, well, I kinda never really thought about it. I mean we're like, sixteen. I haven't even seen you naked yet. Not that I want to. I mean, of course I want to. I mean-"_

"_I know what you mean," she says, giggling._

"_Yeah," he answers, his neck hot with embarrassment._

"_Let's just forget I ever asked."_

"_Okay."_

_She snuggles closer into his body as she rests her head on his shoulder and they are quiet for a while as he stares down at her thoughtfully._

"_Two," he says suddenly._

"_Two what?"_

"_Two kids. A boy and a girl." She hides her face in his shirt, but he knows there's a huge beam on her face._

"_Really?"_

"_Yeah. So we get one of each."_

"_Two sounds perfect."_

Xxx

The wedding day approaches. Their wedding day. It's tomorrow and he thinks he wouldn't be forced to remember it every second of every fucking hour if everybody would just _stop _asking him how he's doing.

Xxx

He freaks out at his mom. He feels guilty about it now, knows that he's being a horrible son, but she's been hovering the whole fucking day and no, he doesn't need another reminder that it's supposed to be his wedding day tomorrow. A real wedding, with a real wedding dress and a real wedding cake and real wedding guests.

So when she asked him if he needed anything, for the tenth time in two hours, he lost it. And he yelled. And she looked surprised. And he was out the door before the expression could turn into hurt.

The front door opens and he opens his mouth to apologize.

"C'mon."

He looks up to find Burt, bundled up in his coat, car keys in hand. He stares up at his stepfather blankly.

"You need a drink."

"It's four o'clock."

"It's a special occasion."

Xxx

He's on his tenth shot and well on his way to becoming drunk and Burt's staring at him out of the corner of his eye, those worry lines on his forehead getting deeper.

_Don't worry_, he feels like saying, _this is nothing._

"Thanks," he says instead, because it feels like he needed this break, needed a moment to just stop trying.

"No problem," Burt says and Finn smiles as he clinks their glasses together.

"Look Finn," the old man begins again after a period of comfortable silence, at least from his end. "I know this is tough on you."

"It's not tough," he mumbles, staring at the drink in his glass. "It's just hell."

The awkward silence strikes again.

"It'll get better."

"Everybody keeps saying that," Finn mutters, looking up at his stepfather in wonder. "It'll get better Finn. Take your time Finn. How are you doing Finn? I know, I keep saying. I will. I'm fine. But y'know what Burt?" he asks, downing another shot. He sees Burt trying to discreetly signal the bartender to cut him off.

"It really _doesn't_. And I'm sick of taking my time, because really, what the fuck does that even mean? And, how am I doing?" he continues incredulously. "I'm going crazy. I'm not _fine_. I'm not _okay_. It fucking hurts, okay? It hurts, like, all the _fucking_ time. Because she's everywhere. I see her, everywhere I go, every turn I make, she's just right there! But not really, 'cause she's dead. And what am I supposed to do with myself now? And _whoa_-" he leans back too far and almost falls over the stool but the man next to him grips his shoulder firmly.

"And when I remember that, when it _finally _clicks, then she goes away and that's even worse, because I can't see her, because then she's nowhere and all I want to do, Burt, is_ see _her. I just want to _touch_ her, because I miss her so fucking much it _hurts_. And now, there's a wedding tomorrow, and it's supposed to be _our_ wedding, and everyone's looking at me like my dog was just fucking ran over by a pick-up truck." He laughs humourlessly, his grip on the empty glass tightening.

"But it's not a dog, no. It's my wife. And she was stabbed in the middle of some dark alley by some kid, a _child_, who was too stupid and too young to be responsible. She was my wife for t_wo _days and then she was fucking stabbed, and that wasn't supposed to happen to her, to us, because she was my _wife_, and I was supposed to protect her and some punk stabbed her and I wasn't there! And it wasn't even that that killed her, no! She just didn't fucking wake up. Like, everything was fine, everything went well, and she just didn't come back. And now it's just- _empty_. I wake up and she's not there, and I can barely remember her scent and it fucking terrifies me because I don't want to forget and how does it get better?"

He feels a little confused, a little upset, and angry. A lot angry. So he stands abruptly and pushes away the hand gripping his shoulder, and he sways a little and grips the edge of the table to steady himself. He looks up and looks Burt in the eye, and there's an understanding that's mixed with pity that throws him off.

"How does it get better?" he asks again, voice barely a whisper, before he staggers against the table and blacks out.

Xxx

"It's like Sleeping Beauty," Finn slurs.

"What?" Burt grunts, as he tries his best to even out the weight of the young man on his back. He has Finn's arms around his neck, legs dangling, nearly touching the floor, as he carries his stepson back to the car.

"Like Sleeping Beauty," Finn mumbles again, almost incoherently. "But this time she didn't wake up. I tried to save her, but she didn't wake up."

"You're really drunk."

"I'm a bad, bad prince," he mumbles angrily. "Fairy tales are a bitch. They fucking lie."

Xxx

"When Kurt's mom passed away, I thought my life was over. I thought that every single good thing that was in this world went away with her. But then I realized that no, no she left me something special. She left me Kurt, and every single good thing about her poured out of that little boy. And it got better. You'll find it, son. You'll find the good. I don't know if you're hearing me. But it gets better. I swear to God, it does."

He turns out the light, and was almost out the door when Finn speaks.

"I heard you."

Xxx

"_Do you love me?" he asks quietly as he kneels on the floor next to their bed, smiling. She's lying on her side, barely awake this morning. _

"_Don't be ridiculous Finn," she mumbles sleepily, slightly annoyed that he had so uncharacteristically woke her up. "Of course I love you."_

"_Planning to spend the rest of your life with me?"_

"_Until my hair is gray and you go bald," she answers, smiling._

"_I won't go bald."_

"_Of course you won't."_

"_So, why don't we just make it official then?"_

"_How?"_

_He smiles nervously at her, his right hand slipping into the pocket of his pants and gripping the cool metal. He sees her sit up immediately, her eyes wide with shock as he takes out the ring._

"_Marry me?"_

_She doesn't answer and he looks up nervously, because it was yes or no question, and silence really wasn't an option. She throws her arms around him and he feels her shoulders shaking._

"_Is that a yes?" he asks, a small smile forming on his face. She nods her head vigorously against his neck, and it turns into a full blown grin._

"_That was really lame Hudson," she whispers into his ear. He laughs._

_Xxx_

He wakes up and it's tomorrow. There's a glass of water and two aspirins on his bedside table. He groans as he sits up and massages his temple.

"Don't look at me like that," he mutters to the girl in the picture as he grabs the glass and swallows down the pills.

Xxx

He finds his mom in the kitchen, her back to him as she faces the window. He sees her standing frozen and he knows she's staring outside, thinking. He thinks it's probably his fault. He walks up to her and hugs her from behind, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Sorry mom," he says quietly.

Xxx

"You were married?" she asks him quietly, sitting across from him at the kitchen table.

"Two days before- two days before. She- she didn't want to wait."

He remembers her in the white sundress he had seen before, her hair made up in a hasty braid, still perfect. She had giggled nervously and her clammy hands reached for his as they waited for the building to open.

"_We're really doing this?"_ he had asked in slight disbelief, excited and nervous all at once. She nodded her head quickly and leans up to kiss him.

"_I want to be your wife Finn Hudson. I don't want to wait anymore."_

"_When they ask, I'll tell them it's all your fault Rachel Berry_," he warned jokingly.

"_Hudson_," she answers with a smile. "_Rachel Hudson_."

Xxx

"She was your wife."

"She was my wife. I- I'm sorry we didn't tell you. I'm sorry we didn't wait."

"I'm not."

Xxx

"You know, when your father was gone, I tried so hard to keep everything together. I tried so hard not to fall apart. You were still a baby and I had to think about you and I needed to get a job and put food on the table and I promised myself it was going to get better-"

"I know," he answers, his tone more forceful than he intended. "I know it'll get better."

"It won't. " He looks up at her, startled. She smiles sadly at him and takes his jaw in her hand. "It doesn't get better, not in the way that you think. You lost something, and it's never coming back. And that hole in your heart, it's always going to be there. Even when all that's left is just a scar, it's still going to be there. It won't- it won't hurt any less when you think about her, you won't miss her any less.

And sometimes, sometimes it hurts so much, all you can do is yell at a picture. But you move past it. Because you have to, because there's a trigger in our bodies, there's a button somewhere in there that gets pushed when it gets too hard, when it gets to the point where it's hard to live with, you learn to move past it, because they're better than our pain, Finn. Your dad and Rachel, they deserve better than our sorrow. It gets better, because they live through us. We're responsible for that, to make sure they still live. That's how it gets better."

Xxx

"_What do you want to be Finn?" she asks him. They sit side by side in the choir room as they wait for the others to arrive and she had been making him uncomfortable, staring at him for so long before she finally opened her mouth._

"_What do you mean?" he asks, confused._

"_I mean, when we leave this place. When we leave Lima, what do you want to be?"_

"_You think I can leave?" he asks, surprised, because he had always thought he was going to live and die in this small town. She looks at him incredulously._

"_Of course you can," she answers confidently. "You can go anywhere you want to, be whoever you want to."_

"_I can?"_

"_Yes," she answers, laughing. "You can do anything Finn." He stares at her, a little amazed. He wonders how Rachel Berry can be so sure of him, when nobody else is. Except maybe his mom. But his mom's different. And Rachel's different too._

"_I-" he starts, "Well, I kind of just want to be the best Finn I can, I guess," he finishes uncertainly. God, that was lame. If Quinn or Puck heard that, they'd probably think he was an idiot, not that they don't already. She's looking at him hard, her eyes probing and he's starting to feel uncomfortable again._

"_Me too," she says at last, her voice soft._

"_What?"_

"_I want you to be the best Finn you can be too,"_

Xxx

It gets better.


	6. How to Deal

He trails after the nurse quietly, four steps behind, staring at the short red bob of her hair and the way it stays perfectly still even as she moves. Lost Creek Care Center was such an odd place to be for a twenty-seven year old with no elderly connections to speak of. He had stood in front of the building for maybe five minutes, staring at those closed doors, wondering what he was doing there, wondering what he was going to say. It took five minutes, and the half hour drive over, to realize that he was never going to find the right words, never going to come up with that perfect greeting that would make this okay.

That was never his job after all. It had always been hers. She was the one with the words, with the understanding and the compassion. He was the one that stood to the side, hoping his best that her words would be enough for the both of them. But now she was gone, and he needs to learn to form his own. The nurse turns to him, smiles slightly, before she pushes open the door to room number 203. She steps in and he stops just below the doorway. From where he's standing he sees a pair of feet, wrapped under a blanket and immobile.

"How are you doing today?" he hears her ask.

"Oh same old. Birds are chirping, Carl's drunk and singing his heart out from two doors over and I can't leave the bed to go pee." Finn smiles as he listens to the familiar and dry tone of his voice.

"Good day then?"

"Always Sandra."

"You got a visitor."

"My girlfriend? You didn't spill to her about our morbid love affair did you?"

"That's a secret I'll take to my grave sweetie. No, it's a friend."

That's his cue. He steps in, shuffling his feet a little, awkwardly shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He walks over to the edge of the bed and ignores the look of surprise the passes over Sean Fretthold's face.

"Hey," he says, bringing a hand up for an awkward wave.

"Well, you're the last person I expected to see today," Sean comments, a smile breaking over his face.

"I'll leave you boys alone then," Sandra says, smiling at Finn before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

"Fretthold," he greets as he walks closer, nodding his head.

"Hudson," Sean answered, raising an eyebrow.

Xxx

"How long have you been back?"

"About a month."

"That's a while."

"Yeah."

"When are you leaving?"

"I don't know yet."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Xxx

He stares at the tops of his shoes in silence, in utter frustration, really. God, it's so hard to find the words. How did she do this? How did she make it look so easy to just start a conversation and keep things going? How did she make everything look alright all the time?

"I can feel you brooding."

"Sorry."

"Nah. You know me and my impeccable sense of awkwardness."

"I- Sean. I-"

"Spit it out man. I promise I won't lunge at you in a fit of rage."

He grins. Sean raises his eyebrows mockingly.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner."

"Yeah, well it's not like you knew anyway."

"Rachel would have known. She would have called and kept in touch and she would have known."

"C'mon man. Don't be like that. You were wrapped up in your own personal hell, it's nothing."

"I- how's she doing?"

"My mom? You know, typical chemo stuff. Losing weight, losing hair, upchucking like the second coming of that creepy kid from the Exorcist."

"I'm sorry."

"You said that already. Use more words Hudson."

"I-" he stops and laughs ruefully. "When she died, everybody kept coming up to me and telling me that they're sorry. And all I kept thinking was, for what? You didn't do anything. You didn't kill her. And now here I am, doing the same thing."

"Yeah, I've been there. Still there, really."

"I guess they were just sorry they couldn't come up with anything better to say. Maybe they were sorry 'cause nothing they could have said would have made any kind of difference to me."

"Like right now?"

"Yeah. Like right now."

"Well I'm sorry too, for whatever it's worth."

"How are you?"

"Incapacitated."

"Seriously."

"I don't know man. It's weird looking out the window and seeing a different scenery than the one I've been seeing for the past eleven years of my life. But you know, it's not like my mom can do this anymore, she can barely get out of bed these days. My aunt comes around every day to fill me in. And hey, the nurses here are hot. Have you_ seen_ Sandra? I mean, we gotta learn to deal, right?"

Xxx

"How are you?" Sean asks, turning his head to the side to look at him.

"I-" he looks back, struggling for words. "I don't know."

Xxx

"I- She was always so organized, you know? I mean, she made everything look easy. I always took that for granted. Like-like with you. I mean we've been keeping in touch this whole time man, but then now that she's gone I realize that she's the one that's been doing all the work. The calling, the emailing, forcing people to come over for dinners, forcing me to go out with the others. I mean, she did everything. I was just there. And now, now that she's gone I- I'm a mess."

"Don't be a dumbass." He snaps up his head and Sean's grinning at him.

"You'll figure it out."

Xxx

He doesn't think he will though, figure it out. He needs her. He needs her because his life just doesn't work without her in it. It won't run properly, it won't be _his _life anymore, not without Rachel.

He needs her.

Xxx

"_You're just going to sit there and not say anything?" she yells as she stands in front of him, arms folded across her chest._

"_What do you want me to say?" he asks, gritting his teeth._

"_Anything! God __**anything**__!" She kneels down on the floor in front of him, grabbing his hands. "We haven't seen each other in days, Finn. I don't want to fight with you."_

"_I'm not fighting with you."_

"_No, you're just sitting there, brooding and angry and silent and __**angry**__!" she exclaims as she leans back against the couch, pulling her legs up in front of her._

"_What do you want me to say, Rachel?" he yells furiously as he stands up in frustration. "I'm __**sorry**__, okay? I'm sorry I can't go to your show. I'm sorry I have to work. I'm sorry I don't have time to run lines with you because I'm up to my __**neck**__ with paperwork that needs to get done by tomorrow! So I'm sorry I'm not like Damien, your hunky new co-star or whatever the heck he is, who always has time for __**you**__, who's willing to stay up late for __**you**__, willing to do whatever for __**you**__!"_

"_I didn't mean it like that!" she exclaims, but there's guilt in her voice, and he knows her too well._

"_Well then __**how**__ did you mean it? What do you mean when you say Damien always has time for me Finn, Damien's staying back to help me Finn, because you're too busy! Damien's running my lies with me. Damien's walking me home tomorrow because you can't Finn. Damien, Damien, Damien! __**God**__, even his name is stupid!"_

"_What are you, five?"_

"_No. I'm twenty three. I just got a job that I hate because we need to pay the bills. My boss is riding my ass hard because she's a raging bitch and my girlfriend won't stop talking about another guy!"_

_She springs up onto her feet immediately and she's running dramatically towards him, running for all six feet away, like this is a movie and this is the climax, and she's crying. He would have found this amusing, if she isn't so God-damn __**frustrating**__._

"_I miss you, okay? I __**miss**__ you. And you __**know**__ me, you know how I get. I'm crazy and I'm selfish and I __**hate**__ that you're not around and I miss you! I was just- I'm sorry." She tugs against his arm, but he pulls away._

"_I did it on purpose, I wanted to make you jealous. I wanted to make you stay here, with me. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up. I don't care about Damien. Hey c'mon."_

_She stands on her tip toes and grabs his face to pull it down, forcing him to look her in the eyes. She's crying, she's upset._

"_I love you," she whispers furiously, "Come on, I'm sorry." He leans his forehead against hers and takes a deep breath, trying to control his frustration._

"_Who's the five year old now?" he whispers as he brings up his hands to cup her face and pull it up._

"_Me," she breathes. "I acted like a child. I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."_

"_I'm not mad. I mean, yeah I am, I-" he laughs softly at the chastened look on her face as he leans in closer. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"_

"_But you love me anyway," she replies, grinning._

"_Yeah, I'm still wondering why- ow!" He laughs as she slaps his chest hard. He leans in to kiss her, slightly startled when she throws her arms around his neck and pulls him in closer._

"_I miss you too," he whispers back, his words ghosting over her lips, against her smile._

Xxx

"_Maybe," she starts tactfully, an hour later as she lies on top of him, propping her elbows up against his bare chest. "Maybe you can look for another job." He groans and flips them over._

"_Not again, Rachel," he mumbles as he leans down to kiss her, hoping to shut her up._

"_But you-"_

"_We need to pay the bills," he murmurs against the nape of her neck as he nuzzles his nose into her hair._

"_I know but-"_

"_And this job pays the bills."_

"_But you hate it-"_

"_It doesn't matter."_

"_Finn of __**course**__ it does. This is your-" He swoops down to catch her lips again, lingering longer this time when she opens her mouth. He pulls away and smirks at the look on her face._

"_If you think this is going to shut me up," she starts once she's found her bearings. "You're sadly mistaken."_

"_Well a guy can dream can't he?" he jokes as she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down. _

"_This isn't over," she whispers against his lips._

"_I know. Will you ever stop trying to run my life?"_

"_I only do it 'cause you don't know what's good for you. I would __**never**__ try to tell you what to do if I didn't know that you're thinking the exact same thing as I am, that you can do so much better than this ," she answers as she pushes his head back, her expression insulted. He grins and leans back down, grabbing her waist and pulling it tighter against his._

"_Keep telling yourself that," he murmurs._

Xxx

He can't do this.

Oh God. Oh God he can't do this.

How is he supposed to do this?

His eyes are wide in the dark, and he feels the panic settling into the pit of his stomach as he imagines tomorrow, a week from now, a month. Years and years and years without her.

He'll screw it up. He's going to screw his life up and he's going to fail. He's going to fail her.

"_We gotta learn to deal, right?"_

But how? How does he deal?

He can't do this.

Xxx

He pulls up into William McKinley High and it's funny to be here, to park at the exact same spot he used to more than ten years ago. He still sees her running around sometimes, spinning circles around his mind, and today she's coming out at full force, because she's sitting next to him, in his mom's old car and she's wearing that blue polka-dotted sundress he loved, chattering merrily as she pulls up her white knee highs.

"_Today is going to be a good day Finn_," she said merrily. "_Because we're together and we'll be singing together at Glee and everybody will see that we're perfect for one another and my dream of becoming one half of the school's power couple will finally come true_."

"_What if it doesn't?"_ he had asked playfully. She had looked at him, a little shocked and a little stumped, before her face broke into a winning smile.

"_Well then __**we'll**__ know the truth, as long as __**we**__ know it, it's okay I guess_."

He sighs as he kills the engine and steps out of the car. He follows her into the school entrance as she keeps talking happily, one arm wrapped around a younger version of himself. This just might be another long trip down memory lane.

He stops in front of the office and hesitates for a second before knocking on the door.

"Come in." He does, and Mr Schue's still talking to the girl sitting in front of him. His teacher looks up, sees him, and does a double take.

"We'll talk about the set-list later Sara. Why don't you and the others work out the kinks and we'll revise it at practice tomorrow."

"Okay Mr Schuster." She gets up and turns around and he's startled to see her.

"Sara? Hey, it's me, Finn."

"I know who you are Finn," she says, smiling as she shakes his hand and it feels weird to see that the girl who used to jump on his back and refused to let go until he gave her a piggyback ride, was all grown up.

"Wow you're a-"

"Senior," she finishes. "Don't look so surprised that I'm grown up. It happens to the best of us."

"It's good to see you," he says, surprising himself to find that he actually means it.

"Yeah, you too. I'll see you around Finn."

He turns to look at Mr Schue in surprise and receives an amused smile in return.

"She grew up!"

"You say that like it's impossible."

"No I know- just. Wow. The last time I saw her, she was what? Twelve? It's weird."

"Yeah. Nothing like her brother either. The girl has a perfect attendance record, no blemish to speak of."

"You mean she _didn't_ get caught stealing an ATM?" he jokes, smiling. Mr Schue grins and he steps inside.

"You look better," Mr Schue comments. He shrugs. He's not so sure that he is, but at least he looks it.

"What can I do for you?" his teacher asks him and he hesitates again as he looks at the band around his pinkie finger. He steels himself.

"Can I talk to you Mr Schue?"

xxx

He sits on the edge of the stage, his legs dangling over the side. She's everywhere in the auditorium. She's in the seat in front of him, busily criticizing the way Santana Lopez's voice broke on the last note. She's backstage, taking inventory and making sure all their props are in working order. They're slow dancing in the middle of the stage, him flustered and stepping on her toes and her giggling and kissing his cheek, telling him shyly that she'd always wanted to do that. He forces his mind to stop conjuring her when he starts picturing a rug and throw pillows and airplane cups.

"Have you heard from Puck?" Mr Schue asks, sitting next to him. He shakes his head.

"Last postcard he sent me was from Nevada. He was working on construction, living in a trailer. That was six months ago. You know he never leaves a return address."

"So he doesn't know about-"

"I don't think he does."

"I see."

More awkward silence as they sit together. Now that he's here, he really doesn't know how to start.

"How's Jamie? Does he miss his car?"

"Nah," Mr Schue answers, grinning. "He did ask about you though. He thinks you're 'awesome'."

"He does?"

"He said your body could be a highway because it's so long." He laughs a little at that and Mr Schue smiles. "He sprained his hand yesterday jumping over the living room couch. His mom is furious."

"I'll bet," he answers, remembering all the times_ his_ mom had taken him to the hospital when he was a kid, trying to fix one broken part after another.

"He's a handful, but he's a great kid."

"What did you mean by that?" he asks suddenly, turning his head to the left to look at his old teacher. Mr Schue stares back in confusion.

"By what?"

"When you told me that I was your first great kid. What did you mean?"

"Exactly what I said."

"Come on Mr Schue," he says, rolling his eyes. "What did you _mean_?"

Mr Schue stares at him, looks at him intently, until he starts to feel uncomfortable and looks away.

"You were a good kid."

"I was a dumb kid," he corrected.

"Nah. You were- you were naive. But you were a good kid. You had a good heart Finn. You still have it."

"That's it? I was a great kid 'cause I had a good heart?"

"You brought Glee club back together."

"Rachel was the one holding on to the club."

"Yes and you were the one that united them. You made me realize why I should stay. And that Finn, that moment changed my whole life."

"That didn't make me great," he answers in frustration. How did being an unwitting catalyst in someone else's life make him great? What kind of an answer is that Mr Schue?

"You see the good in people, Finn. Do you know how rare that is? How hard it is to see the good in someone when no one else does?"

"I was a punk."

"You were confused. There's a difference."

"I was stupid. I was afraid of what people thought of me so I did things to make me look cool, even if I didn't like it. My girlfriend thought I was a dumbass that would fall for her hot tub lie and I _was_. My bestfriend screwed me over without blinking an eye because he knew I was too stupid to realize anything. I didn't stand up for the people I should have stood up for because I was chicken shit. These don't sound like great things to me, Mr Schue."

"You forgave them. You did better than forgive them, you took them back. I could never do that. And you pulled through Finn, sometimes two steps too late, but you do. And- and look at Rachel. You saw the good in her, which nobody else could see. You saw the good things she didn't even see herself."

"People were idiots. She was amazing. _She_ was great."

"She was. She was special. And she always knew that, but you made her believe it."

"I-"

"You don't look at the bad things first. You see the good right off the bat. It's not easy to be like that. And it's not easy to keep it up either. You know, Kurt told me about the boy. The boy who- well,"

"Killed her?"

"Yes. He told me what you said. He couldn't believe it, you know, when you said you didn't blame him."

"He didn't know what he was doing."

"Does it matter?"

"Of course it does! He freaked, he probably needed the money anyway. I mean-"

"He still did it."

"He's a child Mr Schue. He's a kid," he says, frustrated, and the way Mr Schue is looking at him like that's exactly what he expected is kind of pissing him off. Mr Schue puts a hand on his shoulder, and he doesn't flinch this time.

"I used to think that I saw myself in you," his teacher says slowly. "I used to think that you were like me. I think that was why you were always my favourite student. But you're not, Finn. You're better than me, and sometimes I wish I could be more like you."

He looks at his teacher, looking for a sign that Mr Schue's lying, but the older man's looking at him earnestly and he still doesn't get it. He doesn't understand what Mr Schue's trying to say. He thinks the old man's a little full of bullshit on this, but he keeps quiet.

Xxx

"I miss her," he blurts out. "I mean, I know everyone know this. I miss her. I miss the way she'll wake me up in the morning and force me to eat my breakfast even when I'm late. I miss hearing her voice all the way from the kitchen, singing at the top of her lungs when she's cooking pancakes. It's always pancakes, or cereal. Because we don't have a waffle maker, and I made her promise not to try anything else when I'm not awake. And the way she's always prepared, you know? She's always ready to go, ready to seize the day or whatever. And even when she's not, I miss that. I miss the days when I wake up and she's still in bed, upset over some audition or just feeling like crap. I miss the days when all she wants to do is cry because- because life is a pain in the ass and we're really all that we've got.

"I just- I miss every day. Just normal things, like the way her laughter sounds and the way she used to cry at Love Story or The Notebook or a bunch of other equally sappy movies that she forced me to watch. Or the way she yells and screams and throws tantrums worthy of a six year old and gets embarrassed about them later. And I miss coming home to her, Mr Schue. I miss knowing that she's going to be there when I get back, and that- and that she's always going to be there."

He doesn't even realize that he's been crying until Mr Schue grips his shoulder again and he feels the wet trail down his cheeks. He shakes his head. He thought the crying period was over. He turns to look at his teacher, his expression earnest and pleading.

"How do I do this Mr Schue? How do I- how do I- live?"

"Finn-"

"She's been in my life since I was fifteen. That's _twelve_ years of my life, Mr Schue. And it's the years that matter, because before that nothing really _mattered_. Before her, I didn't know- no I didn't even _care_, didn't even _think_ of anything past today or this minute or this moment in my life. And then she came, and she was so _amazing_, and beautiful and- and she told me I could do anything and- and she made things _matter_. It's like, I feel like every decision I've ever made, every road I've taken, it always came back to her in one way or another. She made me care, Mr Schue. She made me care about what happens to me, made me want to be better and be someone better.

"And it's always been us, you know? Since I was fifteen years old, it was always the two of us and everything else. We could do whatever, face whatever, because we had each other. But now I _don't_. Now I don't have her and I'm alone and I've never been alone, Mr Schue. Not since I was fifteen years old and this girl with weird animal sweaters and knee socks and trucks full of confidence came up to me and talked my ear off while we're waiting in line for something I can't even remember and scared me half to death. I've never been alone.

"So how do I do this, Mr Schue? Can you tell me, can you please _help_ me, because I am terrified and I'm scared and I don't want to screw it up, I don't want to throw my life away, not when she'd done so much to make it worth something."

He stops talking, frustrated, because there's more. There's so much more to say, but he can't put them into words and he's doing a shitty job of saying anything and he's probably confusing the hell out of Mr Schue. She would have known what he meant. She always knew what he meant. He misses her so much right now, he thinks his heart just might never recover from it.

"_You don't need the words Finn. I have enough for the both of us_," she'd say when he was trying so hard to tell her how he feels because he feels too much, he feels more than the words he know can explain. "_I know, baby_," she'd say and she'd kiss him and she'd smile and she'd say the words, the exact words that he meant but couldn't piece together.

"Finn," Mr Schue says and he snaps back into the present again. The older man sighs and runs a hand through his hair and he figures it's hard for Mr Schue to find the words too. She would have found the right ones for the both of them.

"I don't know, buddy. It's _life_, Finn. It's terrifying and it's scary and when you're not looking, it pulls the rug out from other you and you're lying on your back on the ground. But- I know this is different. It isn't the same, but when Terri and I, when we got divorced, I was a mess. I mean like you, I was with her since we were in high school, you know? We had this routine together, this perfect system. And yeah she can be a little-"

"Unstable?" he supplies when his teacher stops. Mr Schue smiles.

"I was about to say clinically insane, but that works. But we had a life together. And it was all I ever knew and when that was gone, I didn't know what to do with myself. I was alone and there was no one else and I didn't know where my life was going. I didn't know what was going to happen. But one day I wake up, _months_ later, and I realize that this is it, you know? This is how I live my life. It doesn't stop moving because we're terrified Finn. Life happens, every day. And we just- we just live."

"But how do I live it right?" he asks in frustration because that's what he's afraid of, that's what he wants to know.

"I can't give you an answer for that. I'm still figuring it out myself. Your questions have gotten harder since high school," Mr Schue jokes feebly and he cracks a smile.

"I just- I don't want to disappoint her."

"I don't think you ever could Finn. She used to walk around looking at you like you were the greatest thing on earth. I'd chalk it down to teenage dramatics and Rachel's sense of exaggeration, but the last time I saw her, she still had that look on her face."

"I-"

"I think all she would have wanted was for you to do your best. And you'll do good Finn."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because it's you."

Xxx

He steps into the store purposefully as he makes his way to the counter. The teenager behind it smiles at him and he makes out the tongue piercing and the big hole in his left ear and winces.

"How can I help you?"

"You customize leather, right?"

"Totally. It's called House of Leather dude."

"Great. I need a necklace."

Xxx

He's been waiting at the door for five minutes. He rings the doorbell again because he sees the car parked in the driveway, and he knows that they're home. He hears shuffling from the other side of the door and Leroy Berry finally throws it open.

"Finn," he says in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"I was in the neighbourhood. I hope you don't mind."

"No, no come on in."

"Is Hiram home?" he asks as he closes the door behind him.

"No. No he went out."

"Oh. What were you doing?"

"I was- well, come on."

He follows his father in law into the living room and stops short when he sees her on the big screen, five years old, in a red tutu.

"Tiny Tots Pageant?" he asks knowingly. Leroy chuckles half-heartedly as he sits on the couch and motions for him to come over.

"Yeah, she was five. Summer-"

"Ninety-nine. I know. She made me watch this like, twenty times." Leroy presses play and he sees Rachel on stage, clumsily attempting a pirouette, that huge smile ever present on her face.

"She was so much better than the first place winner," Leroy mutters gruffly as she made her big finish and bowed dramatically. He smiles, knowing that the next scene would be her running down the stage straight towards the camera, demanding her dad to replay the performance.

"Can I get a copy of this?" he asks. "Actually, can I have a copy of all of them?"

Leroy looks at him, his face almost registering surprise before he gives a slight nod.

"Of course."

"Thanks."

They watch silently for the next ten minutes as she gets her runner up sash and the disappointed look that flashes over her face before it gave way to a determined beam. "Next year, I'll sing!" she tells Hiram confidently as her daddy tugs playfully at her second place hamper. He wonders how she could be so resilient at such a young age. He wonders how her perseverance just grew with every disappointment.

"What are you doing here Finn?" Leroy asks, still staring at the screen.

"I'm going back. To New York."

"When?"

"This Saturday. Got my ticket and everything."

"Good for you," Leroy says, and he wonders if that hint of sarcasm was really there. He stares at the older man out of the corner of his eye and contemplates his words.

"She'd hate this, you know? Us mourning like this. I mean, she'd love it at first, all the attention she's getting. But- but I don't think she'd want this." He says the words carefully, slowly, because he knows if this was a month ago and if someone was telling him this, he would have lashed out in an instant. Leroy says nothing, his grip on the remote control tightening considerably.

"I know," her dad finally says, surprising him. Leroy sighs and lets go of the remote to run a hand down his face. "She'd hate this and she'd be so disappointed in me. She'd probably tell me to think of my blood pressure or to write things down. It's just not that easy though, is it?"

"No. It isn't."

"I'm still trying Finn. I've, we've been seeing a psychiatrist. She told us to make room for a grieving period, every day. She calls it the crying room. One hour, she says, one hour in every twenty-four hours, just lock yourself up in that crying room and let it rip."

"Does it work?" he asks curiously.

"It did, most of the time. Until today." Leroy sighs again and Finn straightens up in his chair.

"What happened?"

"I snapped. We fought. I blamed him." The last sentence came out as a whisper.

"I- I'm sure he knows you didn't mean it."

"Sometimes I do mean it, that's the problem. Sometimes I think, if he didn't make that decision, if he didn't tell the doctor to pull the plug, than she might still be here. Maybe if there was just a little more time, then she would wake up."

"Leroy," Finn starts helplessly, at a loss for words. Leroy Berry was staring at a spot on the carpet, his voice and body shaking and he doesn't know what to do. "She was- the doctor told me she was brain dead. There was nothing else that we could do."

"I know. I _know_. I just- I can't help it."

"He was the only one brave enough. He did what we couldn't have. He freed her, Leroy. She would have suffered, she would have been stuck if we hadn't."

"I _know_, Finn. I just- it's hard to remember sometimes."

"Where did he go?" he asks softly. Leroy shakes his head, worried.

"He just walked out. I- I don't-" He sees the panic that passes over Leroy's face and knows from experience, that panic attacks only make things worse.

"He'll come back," Finn assures him. "I know he will." He receives a weak smile in return.

"Did you come to say goodbye?"

"I- yeah. I guess. But Hiram's not here so I think I'll come back later."

"Yes. He would want to see you before you leave."

He stays for another hour, watches two more videos of her childhood, still blown away every time he sees her ten year old self belting out Celine Dion like a pro. He used to dream of a little girl that looks like her. He used to think that their daughter would look exactly like that, maybe a little taller, her eyes a different shade of brown. He never told her that. He's kind of glad he didn't, that he had kept that dream to himself. It feels less like a loss that way, more like wishful thinking. Leroy walks him to the door, a box of her DVDs in his arms.

"How are you doing Finn?" Leroy asks as he steps out onto the porch. Finn looks at him, and for the first time in a while, he thinks he has the right words.

"I think I'm getting there."

Xxx

_He waits by the door and smiles when he hears the sound of her footsteps, accompanied by the voice he'd recognize anywhere. He listens as she pushes the key into the lock, humming loudly to herself, and before she could turn the knob, pulls the door open._

"_C'mon, let's go," he says casually as he grabs her arm, ignoring her surprised squeal._

"_Finn you scared me! What are you doing?" she asks as he locks the door behind him and drags her towards the stairs. "Finn Hudson!" she exclaims when he continues to ignore her._

"_We're celebrating."_

"_Celebrating what?"_

"_My new job."_

"_Your what?" She stops walking and puts all her strength into being a deadweight. "Explain."_

_He stops and turns to face her, his face breaking into a grin._

"_I handed in my two weeks' notice. You're looking at the new Recruit Trainer for Johnson & Brown."_

"_And is this what you want?" she asks nonchalantly, trying to hide the smile playing on her lips._

"_Baby, you know this is what I want. I.T. was just never my thing." _

_She squeals and jumps up into him and he staggers back against the wall as he catches her and laughs._

"_I told you you could do it Finn! What did I tell you?" she mumbles excitedly into his neck._

"_You told me I could do it," he repeats, still laughing. She pulls back and smiles at him, pressing her forehead against his._

"_I'm so proud of you." She whispers, pride radiating out of every word._

"_I love you."_

Xxx

He stares at her ring, holding it up against the sunlight.

"What do you think?" he asks the picture on his nightstand. "You think it's time?"

He looks down at her beaming face and grins.

"I know you do."

Looping the leather through her ring, he clasps the necklace over his neck and slips it under his shirt. He feels the cool metal rest just over his chest, right above his heart.

He's ready.


	7. The art of moving on

His hands are clammy as the plane makes its descent downwards. He clutches the sweater his mom had given him before the flight in an effort to calm himself down as he feels a panic attack rising. The plane goes through turbulence and as his body jumps a little off his seat, he forces his mind to think back to the airport hours before, to think of the faces that had come to tell him goodbye, to not think of later, of the nothing that's waiting for him when he lands.

xxx

Just a few hours before, he'd felt confident. His mom held his hand the whole way to the airport, her face always just a few seconds from crying and he had laughed a little and told her to stop worrying, he'll be fine.

"I know," she told him, smiling ruefully and leaning her head against his shoulder the whole car ride to the airport. He saw Burt looking at them the through the rear-view mirror and he had smiled, silently thanking his stepfather for everything. For being there for his mom, holding her up through everything when he had been too fucked up to do so himself, for holding _him_ up too.

He had been ready. He was sure of it.

And then Leroy and Hiram were waiting at the airport, standing just a few inches away from each other, looking away from each other, but together nonetheless. He hadn't realized how important that was for him, up until the moment they both saw him and walked over to hug him, together. He figured he could do that, be that person in the middle, that bridge for the both of them, no matter how long it takes because the three of them? They're in this together, they'll make it through together. They _can't_ fall apart, because if there was one thing that would have hurt her the most, it would have been that. And he'll stop himself from ever doing anything else that would have hurt her if it's the last thing he does. He figures that he's hurt her enough in this last six months, that if she could have seen him in some way, it was the worst thing he could have done for her. But he'll fix that, he's determined to.

So he stood in the middle as they both enveloped him from each side, all three of them connected in one way or another for those ten seconds where he knew that everything was going to be fine, because he'll be there for them, and they'll be there for him and they will all make it through this. For her.

But then, as the five of them were making their way to the gate, a pair of tiny arms wrapped themselves around his leg and he had looked down to find Jamie, smiling up at him triumphantly, as if he was proud of himself for finally catching up. He had smiled at the boy, a little bewildered, picking Jamie up and looking around to find Mr Schue and miss Pillsbury (Mrs Schuester, he reminds himself for the millionth time in the last five years), walking slowly towards him, hand in hand.

That was when he started to panic.

Because, it was Lima and it was home, where everyone was around, where someone was always there to tell him that things were going to be okay. But then he was leaving Lima. He was leaving Lima and going back to New York where there was nothing to be tied to but the memories of her and their life together.

He had snapped out of that moment when Jamie, impatiently squishing his face in both his tiny palms to get his attention, asked him quickly if he still needed the boy's car. He had laughed, and put the child down, reaching into his jean pocket for the tiny red mobile to hand it back.

"Your car is awesome," he told Jamie seriously as he crouched down to drop it in the boy's tiny palm.

"I know," Jamie answered, "It's my favorite." He bounded off toward his mother and Finn straightened up when Mr Schue walked toward him.

"So this is it," his teacher said, one hand in his pocket, the other clapping Finn on the back.

"I guess so," he answered, smiling ruefully.

"It was good to see you."

You too Mr. Schue."

He grabbed the duffel bag on the floor and the sweater his mom was holding out for him and turned to face the rest of them as they crowded behind him near the gate. He smiled, pushing down the anxiety that had started to make room in the pit of his stomach.

"Don't forget to call us when you land," his mom piped up, her eyes still red from the crying and Leroy nodded his head beside her.

"Us too."

"I won't," he promised. He heard the final call for boarding and slung the duffel bag over his shoulder, taking one last look at the people before him as he tried to remind himself that he can do this.

"Good luck Finn," Mr Schue said, and he nodded his head.

"Thanks."

Xxx

The plane lands smoothly and as it makes its way on the runway, he looks out the window, the sweater by now a ball in his hands. He's ready. Isn't he? It had been so much easier to think that he could do it back in Lima, where someone was always there to remind him that things will get better, where he had been sure that things _were_ getting better. The plane comes to a stop and as everyone starts to stand, moving towards the aisle, waiting for the door to open, he stays rooted to his seat.

He's fucking terrified.

What if he steps off this plane and every single miserable thought he's ever had comes skidding right back into his brain? What if he steps off this plane and then suddenly realizes that he can't? _Can_ he do this alone?

The plane's emptying out, and he catches one stewardess frowning as she looks at him. He guesses it's now or never. As he stands, he feels the cool material of her ring fall against his chest, reassuring him and he picks up his speed, walking quickly towards the exit, trailing behind the last passenger.

Xxx

He walks through the arrivals gate slowly, his mind still cluttered with thoughts of tomorrow, tomorrow and tomorrow, a _million_ tomorrows alone. He wonders why he's still doing this, furious at himself for being this scared to step out of those doors. He is more than this, this uncertainty and dread and doubt and fear, he's more than this because she deserves more than this. He thinks of their apartment, of the emptiness and the memories and the loneliness, and it gets harder to remember that, harder to be ready. It's harder to get there when you're alone.

"Finn," he snaps out of his thoughts in surprise, looking up from the ground he had been staring at to find Kurt in front him, one hand on his hip, a wry smile on his face.

"I've been calling your name for the past five minutes," Kurt tells him, rolling his eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asks dumbly instead.

"Well the airport's the perfect place to pick up single hot males. I'm taking you home Finn. Duh."

"Oh."

"Yeah. No need to thank me. I've only been waiting for the past hour. What was the hold up?"

"I- I didn't know you were coming."

"I had some time to kill. So what the heck," Kurt answers casually as Finn follows him out the exit. He smiles.

"You were worried about me."

"Whatever," Kurt answers, boredom lacing his word. He sees the smile on his brother's face though, and grins, trailing behind the smaller man in silence.

"Thanks Kurt," he says quietly, once they're in the cab. Kurt rolls his eyes and pats him on the arm.

"_Someone_ had to take you home."

Maybe he doesn't have to be alone after all.

Xxx

Kurt leaves him on the curb in front of his apartment, and he walks up those steps slowly, stalling for time. He reaches the final step and sees the door from ten feet away, the wood somehow enlarging and imposing him.

_Get a grip Hudson._

He moves forward firmly, ignoring his dread and reaches into his pocket for the key, turning the lock before he could chicken out.

He's not sure what he was expecting. A gust of wind? Maybe her scent wafting straight towards him? Or their memories to come flood his brain.

Silence.

That's all that he gets.

He walks through the door and he gets the feeling that Kurt's been looking after his apartment, because he left more than a month ago and there were no dust to speak of. He walks over to the cabinet and throws it open, smiling when he sees that all the bottles are gone and the china once again taking its place in the middle. He figures he should probably make an extra set of keys for his brother, just so Kurt could stop breaking in to his house. He walks to his bedroom and stops short at the doorway.

Her little red coat, the one that he had balled and thrown into a corner, hangs primly on a hanger, dry cleaned from the looks of it. He walks slowly towards it, gripping the soft material gently in his hand.

"I'm home," he says out loud to no one.

Xxx

The apartment is small. Tiny, really, and they had always both sworn up and down that they're getting a new one the minute they can afford it.

It seems larger now though. It feels much too large for one person.

Xxx

He calls his mom and tells her that he's fine. He knows she's worried, he can hear it in her voice no matter how hard she tries to hide it. He's worried too. He's fucking terrified because everything seems so fragile in this too large apartment and one wrong move could send him toppling back down towards misery.

What is the right thing to do? Embrace it, everything about this place and everything about her? Or push them away? Because at this point, he can't be sure which of the two will kill him, or if maybe both will.

"I'm fine mom," he tells her.

Xxx

He calls her parents in the evening because he forgot. He mentally kicks himself in the head as he listens to the ringtone and when Leroy answers with a "Finn, are you alright?" with that note of urgency in his voice, he feels the guilt settling in between his bones.

"I'm fine. Sorry I didn't call sooner," he says awkwardly, his next words hanging in the air. It was always Rachel's job. She was the one who made the calls, the one who kept in touch and he forgets that he needs to do this himself now.

_Get your life straightened out Hudson._

"It's alright. We just wanted to know if you're okay son."

Son.

That's it, isn't it? He's their son too now. He's what she left behind.

"I'm fine," he assures them.

Xxx

The bed is large. He's gotten used to his old, barely-fits-him bed. He forgot how empty this bed feels.

He grabs the pillows on her side and builds a pillow-forte around him, making sure that every inch of his body is closed in.

He tries to go to sleep.

Xxx

He wakes up with that familiar ache in his chest and he wonders if that will ever go away, if there will ever come a morning where the pain in his chest won't be there before he even opens his eyes.

He's not sure if he wants that day to come.

xxx

He goes back to work, and the way they're acting towards him, like he's going to break if they so much as breathe wrong, almost sends him running into a cubicle in the men's room.

Almost.

Xxx

Her coat still hangs on the closet door because he can't bring himself to slide the door open. He knows he should.

Maybe tomorrow.

Xxx

If Lucy the receptionist gives him that sympathetic look one more time, he thinks he's going to scream.

Xxx

He screws up with his paperwork and Bobby comes down on him hard.

"Pull your weight Hudson," Bobby (the boss now) snaps. He stays back late to fix it and when it's almost nine in the evening, Bobby's still in his office.

He makes a final run through the pages and satisfied, walks over to drop it off. He sees the boss staring determinedly at the computer screen, and he knows it's probably Solitaire. The man is obsessed with it.

"I've done the revision," he says, standing in the doorway. Bobby looks up, stares at him for a few moments, and nods his head. He watches as the man stands up from his chair, grabbing his coat from the back of it.

"How about a drink or two?"

"Don't you need to get home?"

"Mia and the squirt are at her mom's tonight," Bobby replies easily, taking the papers from him and placing it on the table. They walk in silence side by side, towards the elevator.

"Thanks," he says quietly, once the elevator door closes.

"You're getting better," was all Bobby says.

Xxx

The first time he laughs, really, really laughs, is two weeks later.

It's Saturday and Kurt had hauled his ass up at seven in the fucking morning, saying that he's finally going to go through the generic touristy rituals of New York City and Finn is doing it with him. He allows himself to be pushed and pulled through the streets because it's better than sitting at home, staring hesitantly at the closed door of their (his) closet.

He's been living off his suitcase and the clothes she kept in the underwear drawer. He has only four outfits for the office and he thinks people are starting to talk about his clothes recycling tendencies. He gets away with it because he's got a dead fiancé (wife). It's amazing how long of a free pass you get when the love of your life dies.

They're walking through Times Square and he has his hands in the pocket of his jeans as he stares absent-mindedly at the large ad for Phantom of the Opera displayed on the large screen.

Kurt's going on and on about his new boyfriend and he vaguely wonders why his brother's telling him this, because he's so obviously not listening.

It's the crack's fault for being in the way, Kurt insists, because his foot gets trap in the pavement and the next thing Finn knows, the man was sprawled, Superman style in front of him, the pretzel he had been holding flying up and into the coffee cup of a young girl leaning innocently against the wall.

It takes a second or two. He stares blankly in the beginning, unable to comprehend Kurt, with his ass hanging in the air and his face kissing the ground. The mirth bubble up from his stomach by degrees and it feels foreign for a moment, because laughter was always tied to some sort of sadness, to one memory or another. This free, frivolous, jerk reaction feels foreign somehow and he finds himself laughing, out loud and boisterously, as Kurt struggles to right himself.

"Shut up," his brother mumbles once he sits up and it only serves to make him laugh harder. He's laughing hard enough that he can't breathe and his sides hurt as the memory of the half-eaten pretzel flying through the air to land in a cup of coffee with a splash goes through his mind.

He grins as he holds out a hand to help Kurt up.

It feels good to laugh.

Xxx

Bobby invites him to his housewarming party and he spends all of Friday evening walking aimlessly around Barney's to look for a gift. What is he supposed to get them? He's no good with gift giving. His gifts suck. That was Rachel's job. She used to take one look at whatever he had picked out, gave him a strained smile and usually took something else entirely. He'd only ever been to a handful of these housewarming parties and he had never paid any attention to what she bought for those people.

The thought of Christmas comes to mind.

Then Hanukkah for her parents.

He freaks out and calls Kurt.

He arrives at the new house the next day at noon, the store-wrapped ceramic fruit plate tucked firmly under one arm. It's a house. An actual house, not like the apartment he lives in or the apartment Bobby used to live in either.

It has a stoop. He stops at the bottom stair, smiling a little as he remembers one of their many conversations about the future.

"_It has to have a stoop, of course_," she had told him firmly as her hands ran through his short hair, massaging his scalp gently while he laid his head on her lap. They were both sprawled on that yellow couch, still new, still horrendously sunny.

"_What do we need a stoop for?_" he asked in amusement. She had widened her eyes as she looked down at him.

"_Because when our child goes to school, that's where I'll be waiting for him or her. And just imagine Finn. If we had a daughter, we'd spend our summers out by that stoop and I'll be brushing her hair while we practice on her vocal lessons and wait for you to come home. And she'll have her first kiss on that stoop, and- can't you just imagine it Finn?_"

He can. He did.

"_So stoops are a must then?" _he had asked, amused and completely enamored by the idea, if he was honest.

"_Stoops are a must_," she confirmed, as she leaned down to kiss him.

He shakes his head to clear the memory away and walks up the steps to ring the doorbell.

Bobby greets him loudly and Mia comes by with baby Emily in her arms to kiss his cheek and tells him to come in. He hands his gift awkwardly and stands by the window as more people come. He should mingle, but he can't seem to remember how.

Then the accident happens. He sees Mia turn at the same time a tray full of drinks comes her way and her dress is drenched in cocktail. Baby Emily is laughing as her mother moans in dismay and before he knows what he's doing, he's next to them, offering to take the toddler off her hands as she goes up to change because Bobby's nowhere in sight and nobody else has noticed what happened just yet.

"Oh will you?" she asks gratefully. "Thanks Finn," she says as she hands the two year old over.

"No problem," he says as the sticky material from Emily's dress rubs off on his shirt. Emily squirms in his arms and gives him a toothless smile and he smiles back, wondering if she still remembers uncle Finn, the man who used to carry her around like she was an aeroplane. She used to love that.

Mia disappears and he finds himself seated in a corner, playing peek-a-boo with a two year old girl in a sticky dress.

He's having fun.

He thinks he could have been a good dad.

He knows, as he watches Emily's face light up when her mom comes down in a new dress, without a shadow of a doubt, that she would have been a great mom.

Xxx

He finds two tickets for Wicked on Broadway at eight a.m. on a Sunday morning as he shuffles to the kitchen for coffee. It was slipped under the door and he reads the accompanying post-it twice.

**Dear Finn, **

**I thought you might like these. I'm dedicating my first performance to her memory. Please come.**

**Andrea.**

It doesn't take long to convince Kurt and when the night finally arrives, he follows nervously as his brother walks purposefully towards their seats.

The show starts and he sees Rachel in every scene, thinking of what she would say and how she would have done things differently. He sees Andrea in her costume and guiltily tries to pay attention. The final curtain drops and when the cast comes forward for their applause, Andrea comes forth to stand proudly, waiting for the applause to die down.

"I'd like to dedicate my performance tonight to a dear friend," she says, once it's quiet enough and Kurt's suddenly gripping his fingers tightly. It's only then does he realize that he's been holding his breath.

"She deserves to be up here."

Xxx

He counts his steps as he walks through the rusty iron gate. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. He gets to seventy, and suddenly he's arrived at his destination. He feels that dull ache in his chest pushing its way to the forefront and suddenly, it's hard to breathe.

_Get it together Hudson._

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. That's it.

The flowers he holds in his hand are crushed to his chest and he loosens his grip, holding the bouquet out in front of him.

"He-" His breath gets caught in his throat. He tries again.

"Hey baby," he says, his voice hoarse and quiet. There. That wasn't so bad. He looks up from the ground and for a moment, his eyes roam over the inscription of her tombstone. Rachel Barbra Berry, beloved daughter and friend. She's in there, six feet under. She's really in there. He notices the dried flowers and the wreath of roses placed carefully under her name. He wonders who it was that has been coming by, and suddenly he feels like shit for being too weak to do the same all this while. He sighs and crouches down in front of her grave, carefully placing his flowers over it. He sits properly, crossing his legs as he makes himself comfortable. It is so very quiet.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, after five minutes of silence, of collecting his thoughts. He doesn't know what to tell her, really. He doesn't know if she's listening. Maybe he doesn't have to say anything. Maybe she just knows. Maybe she's seen everything.

"I miss you," he says again, staring determinedly at his flowers. "Every single day. I miss you Rachel. You probably think I'm lying. I swear I'm not Rach. I know I've been a jerk and I haven't been coming by and if you were here, you might hate me and I'd totally deserve it. But I just- it was so _hard_. I couldn't think of waking up without seeing you, or touching you or- or listening to your voice,"

He feels his throat constricting and he needs to clear it before he loses his shit completely. He still has no fucking clue what he's supposed to say. Are there the right words? Is there a handbook somewhere about proper graveyard etiquette? 'Cause he's being spontaneous, and Finn Hudson and spontaneity is never a good thing when it comes to words.

But this is Rachel. She's always known what he means to say. She's always just _known_.

Maybe there are no words. Maybe he doesn't need them.

The grey clouds above him parts a little and it feels like the stream of sunlight that falls over her name is a real sign. He smiles.

She always did know how to make an entrance.

"I love you," he says, his voice stronger, his hand unknowingly clutching her ring through the fabric of his shirt. "That's forever baby."

Xxx

He lives.

For real this time.

He wakes up, goes to work, comes back, and goes to sleep.

Two weeks after the first time he visited her, he was finally ready to open the closet. He stared at the clothes, every outfit, one by one for the longest time before he left the room and came back with an empty box. He rolled them up properly, the way she taught him once, "to save more space," she had said. He rolled them carefully and placed them into the box, absent-mindedly wondering if the Salvation Army was open on Sundays.

Everything goes.

But he keeps the white sundress.

Kurt comes for dinner every Friday. They use her China because it's tradition. Even though tradition has changed into takeout boxes and the occasional microwave dinner when both are too busy. He's learning to cook, but it's a slow process. He considers it a success that he can fry an egg without burning it. He eats a lot of eggs these days.

The first time Kurt brings Al along, he thinks that Rachel would have probably liked him. Watching the two of them makes him feel melancholic, but he pushes the feeling aside because it's good to see Kurt so happy. And he thinks Al is sometimes a little wary of him. Before, he would have probably tried to use that to his advantage, trying to look out for his little brother (Kurt's actually a month older, but he's always been the more protective one). But he knows what she would do. She'd roll her eyes and tell him to leave them be and she'd think that Al is lovely, because he is. So he tries his best to be friendly and non-threatening.

They see a show after dinner. It's a new tradition, every week a new show, no matter what it's about or who's in it. He goes to Broadway and sits in a different seat and every leading lady is Rachel. He pictures her in every one of their places, knowing with absolute certainty that she would have blown them all out of the water if she'd been given her chance. He imagines what she would have done, the way she would have carried herself. He knows that she would have made it. In these moments, sometimes he pretends that she did. He and Kurt watch everything, sometimes Al tags a long. Sometimes he goes alone. But he never misses one.

He sticks to a routine these days. He learns to keep his ties. He calls her parents once a week, just to catch up and he thinks it helps them, to know that he's doing good. Hiram says they're working on it. He knows they'll be fine. He'll make sure of it. He's keeping tabs on everyone, because it was important to her that they all stick together, and he understands now, he knows why it's so important.

He does a lot of overtime on the weekdays and his weekends are always full because he joins the guys from the office for touch football on Saturday and on Sunday, he spends his time with her. It gets easier after the first visit. Once he got that over with, it's just easy to come by every Sunday, to seat in front of her, fresh bouquet in hand, and to tell her all about his week, about the things that have happened or the show he just watched.

His mom was right. It doesn't get better, not really. That dull ache in his chest never goes away. And sometimes, it still becomes too much. But only late at night, only when he's alone. And in those times, he lies in bed with her dress gathered in his arms, and he goes to the crying room. But only for an hour, just like Leroy said. He's learned to live with that perpetual ache; the kind of longing he knows will never heal.

It doesn't get better, but it gets easier.

He's trying to be the best Finn he can.

He lives.

And so does she.


	8. The calm before the storm

"Finn's not coming?" She turns away from the window to see Andrea smiling at her knowingly as she leans against the wall. Rachel smiles.

"No, I told him to wait at home today. He's been working like a dog lately, and I'd feel awful if he has to wait for me too, especially during late runs like this. Why?" She walks closer towards the older woman, plopping herself down on the stool next to her. It's already eight thirty, and this is their fifth break today. She just wants it to be over because she wants to go home, _nownownow_.

_Patience, Rachel. Only five days until opening night of the most important show of your life and the first day of the world knowing you as Rachel Hudson. Or Rachel Berry Hudson. Hudson nee Berry? You'll figure it out._

"Oh you've only been staring at that window every fifteen minutes. When you're not staring at the exit, that is."

"Is it that obvious?" she asks, smiling guiltily at her friend. Andrea laughs and rolls her eyes.

"When have you ever not been?"

She smiles quietly to herself, the hand she had kept discreetly on her lap itching to just make that white gold band on her finger known. She can't help the grin growing on her face. She thinks she hasn't stopped smiling in two days. Not even once. Not even in her sleep. It's so perfect.

Life is _perfect_.

"What are you not telling me?"

"Wha-?" She snaps out of her reverie to find Andrea looking at her inquisitively as she comes closer, her expression full of curiosity. She bites the insides of her cheeks to keep the perpetual smile away and shakes her head.

"Nothing."

"Liar. You've been acting and smiling like you just won a Tony for best actress for the past two days now. What happened-" Andrea gasps dramatically, one hand clamped over her mouth, eyes wide.

"Are you _pregnant_?" she asks in a loud whisper.

"_No_!" Rachel exclaims, appalled. How absurd is that? Not that having a baby with Finn is absurd, not at all. She does want babies with him. She wants lots and lots of babies with him. Little Finns and Little Rachels, running around in their imaginary house with their imaginary lawn and their imaginary stoop. Does Finn want Little Finns and Little Rachels? Of course he does. They've never really discussed it before -unless she counts that time when they were sixteen, and she _does-, _but she sees the way he is with Bobby's beautiful daughter and _oh_, sometimes it could melt her heart, the way he is with that child- but now is simply not the time. They've both got too much to work for, too much that needs to be done before that can happen. But _someday_. One day, she wants those Little Finns and Little Rachels.

"There she goes again," Andrea says, her voice laced with amusement, and she snaps out of it again, this time to find not only Andrea, but also Mandy and Marty and Tom, the lead, all stooping down in front of her, right up to her face, smiling cheekily. She blushes scarlet.

"There's something she's not telling us," Andrea tells them.

"Yeah, and I'll bet it's something huge, 'cause this little girl never shuts up," Marty replies knowingly.

"I'm right here," she says, attempting to be nonchalant.

"Oh we didn't notice from all this quiet," Mandy answers sarcastically.

"'Fess up little lady," Marty demands, straightening up.

She can't hold it in any longer. Shecan'tshecan't_shecan't_. They're all staring at her encouragingly, and she promised Finn- well they promised each other- she won't tell, not yet, but she _can't_. Before she knows what she's doing, the hand goes up. She barely hears the slow whistle over the huge beaming grin on her face as she tries not to squeal.

"Holy fucking hell. Is that-"

"I'm _married_!" she yells, shooting out of her seat to do a little jump and almost knocking the rest of them over.

"You're _married_?"

"When the hell did that happen?"

"Does Finn know about this?"

"Yes, two days ago, and I _resent_ that Tom. Of course, he knows. He was _there_."

They stare at her, still surprised for a few seconds, while she vibrates quietly with excitement until Mandy opens her mouth.

"She's married!" the woman yells and the flurry of activity returns as Andrea pulls her into a hug to congratulate her and simultaneously berate her for not inviting them and Marty's still confused as to how it happened and Tom overlooks them all, smiling in amusement.

"We eloped," she confessed.

"Oh that is so romantic!"

"What, did you twist the boy's arm to get your way Berry?"

"You are infuriating Tom," she answers sourly, glaring at the man, guffawing against the wall. "But, even your ill sense of humor is not going to ruin my mood today."

"Oh," Andrea says in a teasing manner, "Got a special newlyweds night planned out?"

Rachel sighs, and shakes her head.

"No. He has work tomorrow and who knows when this rehearsal is going to end?"

"You try'na worm your way out of rehearsal?" Marty asks gruffly.

"Of course not. But can I?"

"No. But if you're lucky, we might end this thing early. So get your asses moving people! On stage in five!"

"Just let me call Finn first," she says, feeling the guilt sink in because she broke her promise. No one was supposed to _know_.

"Tell him, I'm sorry for me," Tom quips.

"I most certainly will not! Now go away. I want to speak to my husband."

"Oh he's her _husband_ now! Poor guy."

"Piss off Tom," she answers, feeling her blood boiling. That man just loves running her down to her very last nerve.

"Oh now you've gone and done it. She's breaking out the curses. C'mon Tom, before she kills you with her eyes." Mandy says, pushing the man away from the wall.

"What _I_ want to know is," Andrea says as the three of them walk up the stage, "Is what the hell am I supposed to do with that way-in-advance wedding invitation now?"

"The wedding's still on!" she yells at their retreating figures as she holds the phone up to her ear. She listens impatiently to the dial tone, waiting anxiously for him to pick up.

"Hey there stranger." She grins momentarily at the sound of his lazy drawl before her focus returns.

"Oh Finn, I am so sorry!"

"Why? What happened? Rachel, are you okay?"

"Oh I'm fine," she answers flippantly, getting it out of the way. "But they know Finn! They _know_!"

"Know what?" he asks, his voice filled with confusion.

"About us! They know we're married! I tried not to tell Finn. I really did, I swear. But-"

"Rachel, babe. Chill. It's okay."

"But we promised-"

"So what? You think I don't want the whole world to know that you're mine now?" he asks jokingly, and she feels herself relaxing.

"I wasn't before?"

"Well now it's official. Don't worry about it. I didn't count on you lasting for long anyway."

"Hey!"

"Next thing I know, I'll get a call from mom demanding to know why she had to hear the news from Kurt through his Facebook or something-"

"I keep secrets!"

"Yeah. Just not when it's yours."

"Finn Hudson!"

"_Rachel_ Hudson!"

"Okay fine, I can't help it when I'm excited okay? I mean, we're married Finn. We're _married_!"

"You've been yelling that in my ear for two straight days. I know Rach. I was there." he teases. She rolls her eyes and grins anyway. Fine. If he doesn't want to be completely over the moon about it, then she'll just have to be that for the both of them. And then some.

"Where are you?" she asks, hearing his labored breathing.

"Home. I'm walking up the stairs."

"How was work?"

"Exhausting. You coming home anytime soon?"

"No," she answers apologetically. "We've still got one run through left."

"It's almost nine thirty Rachel. You sure you don't want me to go over there and wait for you?"

"It's fine. It's just ten minutes away. I can handle myself."

"Fifteen. And I know. But-"

"I'll be _fine_ Finn. I'll be home before you know it. Get some rest okay? I plan on ravishing you tonight," she teases.

"Oh you do, do you?"

"Mmhmm."

"You mean like you planned to last night, and then fell asleep with your coat on?"

"I'll be home by eleven, 'kay?" she answers, ignoring his teasing tone as her face burns up at the thought of falling asleep while he was still talking the night before. She had woken up at three in the morning in yesterday's clothes and her red coat thrown carelessly over the chair. And Finn's heavy snores in her ear.

"Be careful, alright? Don't be late."

"I promise," she answers, smiling.

"I love you Rachel Hudson."

"I love you too. And Finn?"

"Yeah?"

"Never stop calling me that," she says in a soft voice, smiling at the thought of him doing the very same thing on the other end.

"I won't," he promises.

Xxx

Rehearsal lasts longer than she expected and after the first hour or two, she barely realizes it. Next thing she knows, the clock on the wall is saying that it's ten minutes past twelve, and she's running down the stage, ignoring Marty's indignant cries.

"Oh I am so _late_!" she wails, reaching the front row and frantically stuffing her things into her purse. "Finn is going to _kill_ me. Marty, how could you just let us carry on like that, when you _know_ it was supposed to end an hour ago-"

"Since when did I hand over my directing duties to you?" he answers gruffly. She straightens up and glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest, and at least he has the decency to look halfway guilty.

"Fine, fine. Ya'll get off early tomorrow-"

"By eight-"

"What am I-"

"I will _not_ stop pushing for this-"

"Fine! By eight. Happy now?"

"Yes," she beams. Finally, a night out with Finn since they got married. Their first date as a newlywed. She's just going to have to convince Finn to pass over the overtime tomorrow, is all. "Yes I am happy now. And if you'll excuse me, I'll be going home now."

"Do you want us to walk you home?" Andrea asks, as she and Mandy shrug their coats on. Rachel shakes her head.

"Your apartment is on the opposite side of the theatre."

"We don't mind," Mandy answers.

"Thanks, but I don't want to bother you. The two of you must be so exhausted with rehearsal running so late," she says, staring pointedly at Marty who rolls his eyes. She reaches blindly for her phone and swears softly when she sees her call log. Finn had called more than a dozen times. She feels her heart drop at the amount. He's going to be so upset. She opens her message box and finds about half a dozen messages with various paraphrasing of where are you? and call me!

She bids an absent-minded good bye to her friends as she waits for him to pick up the phone. He doesn't. She's not sure if it's because he's upset or because he's asleep. Four more tries and she decides with a wry smile on her face that it's the latter. He'd never be able to ignore her when he's this worried otherwise. She sighs at the thought of coming home late once again and not being able to talk or even just lie on bed to cuddle together. Well, she could force her way into his arms, but he'd still be asleep and it just won't be the same.

_Tomorrow,_ she tells herself. _You'll have a whole night of nothing but just the two of you tomorrow._

She's going to make it up to him. Maybe she'll surprise him with a romantic dinner. Take-out, of course. He stopped trusting her with the stove ever since the smoke detector went off that one time. It strikes her again how much she misses him. It's kind of ridiculous, really since she comes home to him every day. But it feels like ever since they got married, work has been completely successful at keeping them from one another. And yes, it has just been two days, but she can't help it. She _misses_ him. Suddenly, she wishes she'd told him yes when he asked to come by. At least then they'll have an extra fifteen minutes together. But she did the right thing. He must be completely exhausted if he could fall asleep before she's home. He _never_ does that.

_Come on Rachel. Why the melancholy? You'll be home in no time._

She reaches the exit door and there it is again. That feeling comes back to her in full force, like something's about to happen. She's been feeling it for days now. She even told him so on their wedding night, with photos of their childhood memories scattered all around them on the floor. She'd been so happy, she didn't even bother getting upset at the thought of them ruining those photos. She told him it's this role, this play. She told him it might be Broadway calling. Maybe it's just them, being together this way, being each other's husband and wife. Something's coming. She just feels it in her bones. She smiles, pushing the door open.

She's hoping for good things.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you so much for reading/re-reading, reviewing and favorite-ing/re-favorite-ing this story! I hope that it was a good read.**


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